


If I Saw You In Heaven

by TheSigyn



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 22:17:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 69,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8818291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSigyn/pseuds/TheSigyn
Summary: Buffy flings herself off Glory’s tower to her death… and it’s only the beginning. Where is she? Joyce is here with her, and Merrick, and her little cousin Celia… and who’s the diffident guy in the Victorian clothes who seems too embarrassed to look at her? “Oh, my god. You’re William!”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is weird. It just is, it's weird, it's wandery, it's metaphysical in the extreme. If you're reading and you feel lost, don't worry, that's probably how you were supposed to feel, just plunge on. This was an idea I could not get out of my head, and I know it's hard to understand or even follow, but... William wanted his say on the matter, and... he was only a soul.  
> Special props to Zabjade and bewildered for trying to beta this wandery little beastie. I know how hard it was to wrangle.

 

_Would you know my name_

_If I saw you in heaven?_

_Would it be the same_

_If I saw you in heaven?_

_I must be strong and carry on_

_'Cause I know I don't belong here in heaven._

                                      “Tears In Heaven”

                              Eric Clapton

  


_The hardest thing in this world is to live in it._

   Buffy wasn’t going to have to do that any more. She flung herself through space, Glory’s hellgate ripping through her body. She felt as if she’d burst, like the seams had given way in a rag doll, leaving it fluttering and empty. Her soul abandoned the dead shell of her body, and plunged into a soft light like a warm pool.

   She opened what she thought of as her eyes to the sight of her mother looking down on her. “Buffy!” Joyce said with a gentle smile. “I thought it might be you when we were all called.”

   Buffy did what she thought of as standing up, and grabbed at her mother. “Mom! Oh, Mom!”

   Joyce laughed. Buffy felt her arms warm around her. “Hi, honey. I missed you.”

   Buffy had no doubt she was dead, and no doubt that she didn’t mind in the least. There was no shock or grief or regret about the thought. She knew. And she was completely okay with it. She had only one worry. “Dawn? Is she safe?”

   “We can check if you like,” Joyce said. “But I’m sure she’s fine. Grandpa’s here.”

   “Poppie?” Buffy said. Sure enough, there was her grandfather, she’d been very close to him when she was younger. And beside him a young woman who did not look very much like the woman Buffy remembered as her grandmother, but recognized as her all the same, and a little girl — “Celia!” She ran and lifted up her little cousin, who had died when Buffy was only a girl herself.

   “Hallo, my girl,” said an avuncular voice that was all too familiar.

   Buffy turned, still holding Celia, and her jaw dropped. “Merrick?” she asked. It was Merrick, her first watcher, who had died trying to protect her. “Oh my god, Merrick!” Buffy dropped her cousin and ran up to hug him.

   Merrick had never been much of a hugger, but he patted her back proudly. “You’ve done well, my girl. Better than I could ever have hoped.” He stood back and admired her. “Look at you. You’ve changed so much. So tall and strong.”

   “Oh, yeah, I did grow a few inches,” Buffy said.

   “That wasn’t what I meant.” His lined face was beaming with pride, and Buffy realized the differences he was seeing. When Merrick had died she was still a new slayer, insecure in her power and unsure of her future. In the last five years she had come into her own, defeated powerful forces, saved the world half a dozen times, and had pretty much forgotten the concept of fear. “You are the Slayer,” he said. “I knew you were.”

   “Well, _duh_ ,” Buffy said, falling back into her bubble-headed Valley speech. “How could you doubt it, with my keen fashion sense?”

   Merrick laughed. “Never mind. You haven’t changed at all!”

   Buffy realized they were all in a recreation of the living room of her childhood home in L.A. It was softer, a little paler, some of the details seemed missing completely, and it seemed to disappear in her peripheral vision when she wasn’t looking at any given area closely, but she felt at home there all the same. It was a place she frequently visited in her dreams.

   Her mother and Merrick were only the tip of the iceberg. Everyone was there to greet her. There was a flurried moment of joyful reunion as everyone that Buffy had truly loved who had died came forward to say hello. Some didn’t stay long – an acknowledgment that they were here too, and then getting out of the way. Celia hung onto Buffy’s hand for a long time. Joyce introduced – or reintroduced– family members who had died when Buffy was very young, whom she barely remembered, but who remembered loving her, even if only as a baby. And at the very end came Kendra, the fellow slayer who had died when Buffy was seventeen. She gave Buffy a hug, said, “Welcome, sister,” and then left. She was the only one who didn’t seem interested in staying at all.

   It was a small party – barely a dozen people had come to greet Buffy. Despite all the death in her life, very few people close to Buffy had ever truly died. She was thrilled to see them all again, even the ones she barely remembered.  

   She’d been greeted and hugged by just about everyone in the room when Buffy caught a glimpse of someone sitting as far away as possible in a distant corner, carefully not interfering in the party. “And who...?” Buffy looked over at him. She knew everyone here. They were all fluttering around her, so pleased to see her. She did not recognize this man. He seemed rather diffident, young, and very quiet. He sat on a tufted chair in the corner, as far away from the party as he could get, hiding his nose in a book. The chair was the only part of the room Buffy didn’t recognize, and fit the antique clothing of the man more than it fit Buffy’s childhood memories. She handed Celia to her great-uncle Thomas and started toward the young man, curious.

   “Uh, Buffy....” Merrick said, as if trying to stop her.

   “Yeah?” Buffy stopped and looked at him.

   Merrick regarded her, and then shook his head. “Never mind.” He turned back to Joyce, shaking his head. Joyce had never met Merrick before, apparently, and he was explaining to her his place in Buffy’s life, as he’d identified her and trained her in LA.

   Buffy wondered what Merrick had been about, but went up to the young man on the chair anyway.

   “You don’t really want to talk to me,” he said, not meeting her eyes. He had an accent not unlike Giles. “I do wish they wouldn’t call me to these things.”

   His hair was longer than looked really right, curly and goldish and it seemed to perch atop his expressive face, rather than belong to it. It seemed like a butterscotch ice-cream topping. He wore narrow, fussy little glasses, which obscured his eyes, and he held himself very stiffly, nervously perched on the edge of his chair as if afraid he might break it.

   Buffy frowned at him. “Do I know...?”

   He didn’t turn away from the book, but he clearly wasn’t reading it. “No, you don’t.” Then he sighed. “Well, I suppose. They call me to these things in case you are in need of – I believe they call it closure or something in your era, though I honestly think my being here is more traumatic than not.” He finally looked at her, an expression of genuine sorrow in his face. “You were most likely killed by the demon who wears my form. I’m terribly sorry and all that. I don’t really have a lot of influence over it from up here. It’s only my corpse, after all. Feel free to slap me or something if you must – I don’t fret over it much. Quite used to it by now. Your vengeance is somewhat misplaced, though I’ll gladly bear it if it helps. But I do fear it wasn’t really me.”

   “Wasn’t you?”

   “Who killed you. I do apologize. I’d have stopped it if I could.”

   Buffy blinked, or felt she blinked, shocked she hadn’t recognized him before. But he wasn’t as pale, his hair was all wrong, and the glasses did obscure his face quite a bit. But more importantly, he carried himself so differently. She knew how that body was supposed to move, or could move, or how Spike made it move. He really did seem an entirely different person. “Oh my god. You’re William.”

   William seemed just as surprised that she knew his name as she was to see him at all.

   “Yes,” he said. He stood up to face her, unafraid. “Yes, that’s me. I thought they’d stopped bothering me with these. Rather hoped the wretched thing had been turned to dust, don’t you know. I am sorry it killed you. I hope it wasn’t painful.”

   If William was surprised she knew his name, he was completely shocked when her spirit jumped up and hugged him.

 

***

 

   Buffy disengaged herself from a flustered and completely bewildered William, who she belatedly realized did not come from an era known for its enthusiastic hugs from nubile young women. She laughed, grabbed his arm and dragged him into the party to meet Joyce. “Mom! Mom!”

   Joyce turned and looked at Buffy, and her eyes flickered over William. “And who is this?” she asked, curious. “Someone you met after I left? Did you start dating a theater major?” William held himself stiffly, staring at her, and she looked a bit chagrined. “Oh, something dreadful must have happened. I’m so sorry.” She held out her hand. “I’m Joyce. Buffy’s mother.”

   “Excuse me,” William said, trying to pull away from the group. He shook his head at Buffy. “I don’t–”

   “No, no, it’s okay,” Buffy said. “You didn’t kill her either.”

   “I didn’t?” He looked surprised. “He didn’t, then? Oh!” He turned back to Joyce, all nervousness abolished, and bowed elegantly. “How do you do, madam?” he said, barely touching her hand. “I apparently have the pleasure of being acquainted with your daughter at some... curious level.” He turned to Buffy. “How are we...?”

   Joyce was looking just as curious. She was frowning at William, as if trying to place him. Buffy knew why. He was wildly different. “Have we met?” Joyce asked.

   “Mom, this is _Spike!_ ”

   Joyce froze, blinked, and then shook her head in sudden recognition. “Oh my god!” she cried out. She grabbed his hand again and shook it heartily.

   William was very flustered by now. “You all blaspheme so often in your era,” he said absently to himself. “Yes, pleased to meet you.”

   Joyce turned to Buffy, her face clouding. “Wait. So does this mean Angel is somewhere...?”

   “Angel’s soul would be on earth, Mom,” Buffy reminded her, and Joyce nodded.

   “Well, I’m very, very pleased to see you,” she said over William’s hand before she finally released him.

   “Ah, yes, well. I have actually seen you before, madam. I was at your arrival. I didn’t feel it prudent to introduce myself. I generally tend to stay out of the way at such gatherings. I had no idea we were acquainted in some... other capacity. Or... that... that was even possible – Miss... ah...?”

   “Buffy,” Buffy said.

   William shook his head and took half a step away. “I wouldn’t presume to use your given name. Miss...?”

   “Summers,” Joyce supplied for him. “Joyce and Buffy Summers.”

   “Mr. William Pratt, at your service,” he said, with another slight bow. The rest of the family was mostly interacting with each other, but Merrick was staring at him. “Am I... acquainted with you as well, sir?”

   “No,” Merrick said evenly. “But I know what you are. My condolences.”

   William nodded a slight bow with his eyes closed in sadness.

   “What you’re doing here... that I am less certain of.” Merrick gazed piercingly at Buffy, and Buffy shrugged. She knew even less of what was going on than anyone else.

   “Indeed,” William said. “Ah... might I... speak with you?” he said to Buffy. He seemed to mean alone.

   “Oh, okay,” Buffy said. She let Spike – no, _William_ – lead her across the room to the spot by the stairs.

   “Would you _please_ explain to me what is going on, Miss Summers?” he said in a low hiss. “If that demon hasn’t killed either you, or your charming mother there, then by what ghastly purpose have I been called to witness your arrival? You have both clearly died young, and I am not called to any arrival at all these days unless the death has been the cause of that... that creature.”

   “Spike didn’t kill either of us,” Buffy said. “Mom died of an aneurism, and I was... well, I was saving my sister, and the world, in that order.”

   William looked astonished. “I’d accuse you of lying, though I know you can’t. I believe you had best start from the beginning. Who are you, and why did you introduce me as _Spike_ , of all things?”

   Buffy chuckled. “I think we’d be better to start from your beginning,” she told him. “You were killed by a vampire in the 1800's, right?”

   “1880,” William said. “And my body was violated and possessed by a creature which has spent over a century slaughtering innocents and tormenting humanity in a violence of depravity which has made my well-earned rest a veritable hell! If you’ll pardon my vulgarity,” he added, straightening up again, as if remembering his dignity.

   “You’ll have to forgive my fervor,” he continued, standing stiff and still. “I am... quite moved by the plight of this creature’s victims. I haven’t been required to endure any arrivals for nearly a year of your time, I had hoped...” He looked down. “I had hopes that it had finally been destroyed. My hopes were dashed when your mother arrived some few of your months ago, and when I looked... he was still there.” He shook his head. “What he is doing, I know not, but I dare not look again. And now I am called to your arrival. To what end?”

   “It’s gonna be a little hard to explain,” Buffy said. “'Specially since I don’t know the rules of these... arrivals.”

   “Those who are new to this plane are greeted by their loved ones,” William said. “Family and friends. And... in the case of myself, and certain others, we are called... to the arrival of their... our... our _body’s_ victims. This is, I believe, so that we may apologize, if apologies are desired. Ordinary murderers do not on the whole make it to this place, and yet we do. We are here in this place, because we too are innocent victims, and yet... there is this clause. I do not entirely understand the mechanics of it. But I certainly have never met you or your mother in life, and you claim that creature did not kill you?”

   “No,” Buffy said. “He’s... well, Spike is kind of...” She rolled her eyes. “God, I can’t believe I’m about to use this word. Spike is our friend.”

   William looked nauseated, and opened his mouth as if about to cry out. “Excuse me. I believe... my word, newborns. I have to sit down. That’s astonishing.” He searched until he found her mother’s old couch and sank onto it, perching stiffly at the edge like he was a bird about to leap off into the air again. “Did you indeed just insinuate that you were friends with a murderous demon?”

   Buffy nodded and shrugged at the same time. “Sort of?”

   “And what kind of creature are you, who saves the planet, and associates with monsters?”

   “Well,” Buffy said, and plunked herself down on the coffee table in front of him. “I’m a slayer.”

   

***

 

   The conversation continued back and forth, over and over, until William seemed to understand the gist of it. Buffy stressed a lot of issues – what a slayer was, for one. She called Merrick over to help explain some of it. Then she had to explain Spike’s neuro-chip, which prevented him from killing, and explain to both William and Merrick how Spike had become Buffy’s ally. But Buffy skipped all mention of Spike’s being in love with her. As a result the details of why he had been nearly tortured to death by Glory were a little disconnected. It made the story seem off kilter.

   She didn’t dare bring up the unrequited passion, because she found that very complicated, and it would bring up things in front of Merrick that she didn’t think he’d really understand. And she had a hard time with Spike’s more active heroics, because William and Merrick both found the whole idea of a vampire even carrying on a semi-civil conversation without murdering someone next to impossible. The idea that Spike could in any way, shape, or form be heroic or self-sacrificing would have been too much for either of them to accept.

   Buffy had to admit, she herself would have felt the same way about Spike, not so very many years ago.

   After explaining as much as he knew about what slayers were, Merrick eventually left, saying he’d about served his usefulness, here. He meant to go check in on the Watcher’s Council and see how Buffy’s death was being recorded. “I’ll be around if you need me, my dear,” he said.

   William stayed. He had more questions. Buffy didn’t know how long they’d been talking. There were some things which didn’t seem to make sense about where they were. For one thing, everyone but Joyce seemed to have left, but no one bothered to say goodbye, and Buffy didn’t feel as if they were gone. It seemed to her as if every single one of her deceased loved ones were just in the next room, if she wanted to talk to them. For another, there didn’t seem to be any actual _time_. There was a clock on the wall, just as there had been in her living room in L.A., but she found she couldn’t look at it for the time. It didn’t matter where the hands were pointing, and they seemed to be telling her complete gibberish.

   Joyce eventually joined Buffy in explaining Spike on a more personal level to poor bewildered William. Her mother seemed to instinctively understand Buffy’s desire not to mention Spike’s infatuation. Once Buffy had established a pocket history of Spike’s Relationship With the Summers Women, she herself had quite a number of questions about where the hell they were.

   Joyce tried to explain some of that, but William finally looked relaxed for the first time since they started talking. He held his hand up to quiet Joyce, but he started off by saying, “You shouldn’t say that word.”

   “Which word?”

   “Well... hell. It is considered most impolite here.” He stopped, and blushed, realizing he himself had said it not too long ago.

   The image of Spike blushing in shamed embarrassment, over something as simple as a mild oath, made Buffy laugh aloud. She couldn’t help it. It was _hilarious_.

   “I beg your pardon?” he said.

   “Sorry. I’m really sorry,” Buffy said, trying to compose herself. “Okay, tell me why we don’t use that word.”

   William nodded, accepting her apology. “Well, due to where we are, of course.”

   Buffy blinked, realizing the other shoe should have dropped long before. “Are you telling me we’re...?”

   “Not in hell,” Joyce said with a smile. “That’s as far as anyone really knows, Buffy.”

   Buffy nodded. “Right,” she said. “Wow. Right. And you’re... you’re _here._ ” She couldn’t stop staring at William. He was clearly just as amazed at the concept of her, and her strange history. Their eyes caught, and she couldn’t help thinking his face was nicer without the glasses. She shook the strangeness of Spike’s face on this prim, uptight little man out of her head, and turned back to her mother. “And I’m here,” she said. She chuckled again, a little giddy. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I guess I always knew I wasn’t a Cheeto.” She reached out and held onto her mother’s hands. “I’m so glad to see you, Mom,” she said. “I never thought you’d make it here before me.”

   “I’m kind of glad I did. I’d been dreading your funeral, you know, ever since you two told me...” She stopped and glanced at William. “Ever since I knew you were a slayer.”

   “Is Dawn all right?” Buffy asked.

   “Oh! I’ll check. I wasn’t getting any messages from her, and I think we’d have been called if she passed... though, I don’t know. Her history is a bit strange. Let’s look. I have it preset.”

   “Preset?” William asked.

   “I use a television,” Joyce said to him. “Probably not your chosen method?”

   “Books,” William said. “But I don’t look very often.”

   “What are you two talking about?” Buffy asked.

   “To look back on earth,” Joyce said. “There are ways of peering through the dimensions. It’s mostly one sided. You or your sister could call me, if you really wanted – I perceive it as messages on the answering machine.  If I work very hard I could send a message back. Influence things a very little. I haven’t really felt the need – you were handling everything so well.”

   Buffy had felt way in over her head, but she didn’t tell her mother that.

   “And I can watch you, if I want. Here,” she handed Buffy a remote control. “Channel seven.”

   Buffy turned on the television and pressed in the right channel.

   For a long time, Buffy thought it was going to be nothing but blackness. “Sometimes it takes a minute,” Joyce said.

   Finally, a picture began to resolve, and Buffy gasped. There she was. A slight blonde girl, splayed out on the rubble. She did not look like herself, or not as she thought of herself. That girl looked so small... so fragile. “Is that me?” she said. “Why didn’t anyone tell me my eyelashes looked like that?” It was the only thing she could think of to explain how she felt about that thing on the screen. It did not feel like anything she had ever been inside of. An empty husk.

   Around the corpse – she could not mistake that it was a corpse – her friends stood in various states of shock. Dawn crept white-faced down from the tower. Xander stood sadly cradling Anya in his arms. Giles’s stiff-upper-lip had cracked, and he was crying behind his glasses. Willow and Tara clutched at each other.

   “What the hell?”

   It was William’s voice, and it took Buffy a second to realize how very shocked it was. She turned to him.

   “What’s wrong with it?” William asked, aghast.

   Buffy looked, and saw what had sparked William’s dismay. Spike. He was sitting just in a shadow in the rubble, sobbing like a little boy. Save for that tiny shadow, sunlight blazed all around him, and he cried and cried, looking exactly like a man – a human man – who had just witnessed the death of the love of his life. Buffy frowned at him. God, he looked heartbroken. It... bothered... her.

   As William stared in shock, Dawn came up to Spike and knelt down by him. She said something – Joyce surreptitiously turned up the volume when they couldn’t hear her. “Come on, Spike, please,” she said. She was crying too. Her voice was thick with it, and her hand shook. “Please. We have to go.”

   Spike continued to sob.

   “Please, Spike, the sun is coming,” Dawn pleaded.

   “Sod off.” Spike turned his head away from Dawn, curled in to his knee, ashamed of his emotion, but unable to contain it.

   “Don’t. You’re gonna burn up if you don’t—”

   “Let it!” Spike snapped.

   “No,” Dawn whimpered, unable to keep from crying. “Please. Please, don’t leave me alone, here. You can’t leave, too.” She crumbled.

   Spike shuddered. “Should have been me.”

   “No, Spike,” Dawn said, trying to calm down a little. “It should have been _me_ . It was supposed to be _me._ ”

   Spike looked up at her. “She’d have hurt too much,” he said. “If you’d died she’d have hurt...” He looked down again, and his next words were more to himself than to Dawn. “I can’t do this.” He looked up at the sun, as if daring it to turn him to ash.

   “No!” Dawn grabbed his hands. “Come on, Spike. She said... we have to live.”

   “ _You_ live, niblet,” Spike said quietly. It was clear on his face, he felt it too late for him. Then he glanced over at Buffy’s corpse, and cringed, his jaw shifting in annoyance. “Gah,” he groaned with his teeth clenched. “Oh, you bitch,” he muttered. He wasn’t looking at Dawn. He rubbed his hand over his eyes – fruitlessly, as more tears appeared almost instantly, anyway. “You knew, you sodding bitch....”

   He paused a moment then pulled Dawn into a hug, letting her bury her tears in his leather coat. “Till the end of the world, niblet. I made a promise....” He glared at the corpse, and the hatred was as strong as the grief in his eyes.... “Damn it.”

   “Get him off her!” William shrieked. He was standing in horror, shouting at the television. “Stop him! Don’t you see it? Get him off!”

   Xander seemed to hear William. He glanced over at the two of them, and frowned, disapproving. He opened his mouth, and then thought better of whatever snide accusation he was about to make, in light of the solemn occasion. He gently set Anya down and went over to Dawn. “Hey, come on, Dawnie,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Let’s get you out of here.”

   Spike was not oblivious to Xander’s ulterior motives. The look he threw at Xander could have curdled blood. But he let Dawn be almost picked up and led away, and then crawled to his feet. He had to crouch – Dawn was right. The sun was coming. He couldn’t seem to move properly. “What’s wrong with him?” Joyce asked, concerned.

   “I think he was pushed off the tower, trying to save Dawn,” Buffy said. “He fell, anyway. That’s why I had to...”

   She was distracted by William, who was staring in white-faced horror at the image on the screen. Spike was approaching Buffy’s still corpse, which as yet lay in shadow. “No! No, god no!” He turned from the screen, shaking his head. “I-I can’t watch this.” He fled out the door in what looked like a panic to Buffy.

   She went after him, and opened the door to a misty whiteness. She turned back to her mother, almost frightened, but not quite. “Where did he go?”

   “There’s no where,” Joyce said. “He’s just away.”

   “Can I follow him?”

   “You only have to want to,” Joyce said.

   Buffy went out the door, following William.

   She found herself almost immediately in a misty sort of park, with a glass-still grey river along one side, and a kind of wrought iron fence behind her. William was sitting on very green grass, by a narrow foot path, looking out at the mist on the water. Some of the mist was clearly mist, and some of it seemed to be the way everything kind of disappeared into the distance, much like the details of her house seemed to not be there if she wasn’t looking directly at them. William looked as if he’d been sitting there a long time, rather than having run from her house in a panic less than five seconds before.

   “Are you okay?”

   William shook his head. “Forgive me. I...” He looked down. “I didn’t want to watch him violate you.”

   “I don’t think he was going to,” Buffy said.

   Spike – no, _William._ This was going to be complicated, – scoffed. “You don’t know him at all well, do you,” he said. “I’ve heard more tales...” He shook his head. “No. You shouldn’t hear of such dreadful goings on.”

   Buffy sat down beside him on the bank. “He isn’t doing any of that, now.”

   William scoffed helplessly. “As if that erases all that pain.”

   “Your soul is free of it.”

   “No, it isn’t.” He stared for a moment at the water, then sighed. “Yes. I am free of the blame. But he has killed. And I feel it. I feel all of it.” His head sank onto his knees. Oddly enough, it was the same position Spike had just been in while he wept. Buffy reached out and put her hand on his shoulders. William stiffened, his back arching away from her hand like an escaping cat.

   “Oh... sorry.”

   William only nodded his acknowledgment. They sat in silence for a long moment. “Why was he weeping?” William finally asked.

   “Um....”

   “Did something happen to Drusilla?”

   Buffy was surprised. “You know Dru?”

   “She was at my arrival,” William said. “I heard they were still together not so many years ago. A homeless man was attacked by the two of them on a bench. He liked to talk.”

   “Um... Dru left him before the chip happened.”

   He paused. “Oh.” He frowned. “So why was he grieving?”

   “It’s... complicated.”

   “I can believe that,” William said. He looked up. “I didn’t think that creature could still cry.”

   Buffy hadn’t really realized he could, either. Not unless he was blind drunk, that is. It had been startling to see. Startling and painful, and it... it made her want to reach out to him. But she shouldn’t even want to. And the only one here was William. Who really _wasn’t_ Spike.

   “I don’t think much of your friends,” he said then.

   “What?”

   “That was your sister, was it not?” William said. “They didn’t work very quickly, keeping him from molesting that poor girl.”

   “He wasn’t _molesting_ her,” Buffy snapped.

   William shook his head.

   “You really don’t understand,” she said. “He... he’d never hurt her.”

   “Oh, wouldn’t he?” William asked, with an air of condescension. He gazed out at the water. “I’ve greeted young women who arrived weeping from his violation. I have witnessed entire families, all arriving one after another. I have caught up infants in my arms and wept as I passed them to their distant relatives. I have listened to the confused ramblings of children who understood nothing of what had been done to them. I have been the only one to greet wastrels who were tormented by him for weeks, because they never had anyone to love them in their lives, and he exploited their helplessness.” He finally looked up at her. “And you tell me you know what he is?”

   “I’m a slayer,” Buffy said. “I know he’s a killer. He’s tried to kill me, like, a lot. I know how evil he can be. But I also know he nearly died to save her life.”

   “I can’t believe that.”

   “It’s true. He spent a day being tortured by an evil god, who wanted to know about her. And even though he was broken and bleeding and tormented... he would not give her up. He would have died before he would have given up Dawn.”

   William was staring at her. “How?” he finally asked. “Why? What hold does she have on him?”

   “No _hold,_ she... he likes her,” Buffy said, trying really hard to explain.

   “For elevenses?” William asked.

   She let it go.

   He looked back to the water. “That was why I left,” William said. “He was approaching your corpse. I felt sure he was about to feast on your dead blood.”

   “I really don’t think he was going to.”

   William tossed the book he was holding at her. “Then you look,” he said. “But I shan’t.”

   “Look?”

   “Your mother uses this new moving picture contraption. I always searched for word from Earth in books. If you wish to see, it should be on whatever page you choose.”

   Buffy was fascinated by the very concept. She opened the book. There were several blank pages – just as the picture had taken a while to form – but as she kept turning, eventually there were words forming on the page.

_Spike held the slayer’s corpse tenderly, her pale head in his lap, gently brushing the hair from her face. His eyes were dry, now, but he held no expression. “I suppose we should inform the authorities,” Rupert Giles said._

_“No!” Willow’s voice rang out over the rubble. “No. They’ll take Dawn away for sure!” She came climbing over with Tara at her heels._

_“Well, perhaps that would be for the best, wouldn’t it?” Giles asked._

_“No,” Willow said. “Dawn’s one of us. And she’s not even human. She’s safe with Xander and Anya right now, but what if someone else comes looking for her? What about those Crusader guys? What if those monks that formed her want to turn her back into green energy? We can’t let her be taken away, Giles. Where would she go? Foster care? They wouldn’t understand what she’s gone through. Her father? You already know what he’s like.”_

_Giles frowned. “I... I don’t know if we can keep Dawn,” he said. “We have no legal claim over her.”_

_“But Buffy does,” Willow said. “I’ll bet I could get that bot up and running again. They’d never have to know Buffy was...” She sniffed. “That’ll give us time to help...” she stopped and glanced at Giles. “Time to figure stuff out.”_

_“But what are we going to do with her... with the body?” Giles asked. “It isn’t legal to cremate, or bury her without informing the authorities. We don’t even have the equipment, or the permits to–”_

_“Bugger the authorities,” Spike growled. Then, very softly, as if he were whispering to Buffy, he said to her, “I can dig her grave.”_

_Willow jumped on it. “See? Don’t tell anyone, Giles. We have to get her out of here, before someone_ does _call the police.”_

_“I suppose...” Giles looked down at the dead form with pained distaste. “But how are we going to... get her out of here?”_

_None of them seemed to want to touch her. “Bring the damned car around,” Spike said distinctly to Giles. “Take us to the nearest tunnel entrance. She can rest in my crypt until it’s time.”_

_“I’m not sure that–”_

_“You got a better place than a crypt?” Spike snapped, glaring at him._

_No one said anything._

_After a long moment of silence, Spike moved, ignoring them. He tenderly collected the dead body into his arms, arranging her as if she were merely asleep against his chest. “Bring the sodding car,” he growled. “Fast!” He was steaming gently in the strengthening sun. Soon even the shadow of the tower wouldn’t protect him._

_Giles nodded finally, and stood up quickly, heading back toward the Magic Box and his car._

_Spike carried the fallen slayer into a deeper shadow, and waited, cradling her in his arms._

   Buffy wondered what that looked like. She sort of wished it was a television like her mom had....

   “Well?” William asked.

   She closed the book. “He wasn’t feeding off her.”

   William looked scornful, but he didn’t take the book out of her hands to confirm. He just went back to gazing over the water, confused. Distant.

   “Where is this?” Buffy asked.

   William glanced around. “Hyde Park,” he said. “Kensington Gardens is over there,” he gestured to his left.

   “Are we on earth?”

   “No, this is just where I wanted to be,” William said. He looked back over the water. “I used to come here to be on my own.” A deep sadness passed over his face. “Why have you followed me?” he asked.

   “I didn’t know why you ran away. I was worried about you.”

   “Why?”

   Buffy wasn’t sure why. She racked her brain, and came up with one reason, though she knew it wasn’t all of it. “I knew a vampire once, who still had a soul. It... bothered him, all the things he did when he was pure demon. It tore that soul up. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

   William gazed at her. “You know Liam?”

   Liam? Who...? Buffy remembered vaguely that someone – was it Angel himself, or was it Giles? – had mentioned Angel’s original name had been Liam. Now Buffy was surprised. “You know Liam?”

   “Vaguely,” William said. “We shared some arrivals in my earlier days. He was sort of... haunted by Drusilla for several years. But all of us who are... who still have demons cursing our forms. We all know of Liam. He was called back to earth. Everyone thought it the best place for him. He didn’t really get on well here.”

   “What do you mean?” Buffy asked.

   “It’s peaceful here,” William said. “Liam was never fond of peace.”

   Buffy realized, “Oh! So you must have seen him just a few years ago, then. He sort of... came back.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “Angel lost his soul.” She looked down. “For a little while.”

   William shook his head. “No. If Liam’s soul wandered anywhere away from that demon, it wouldn’t have come here. It would have... had to go somewhere else.”

   “What do you mean? It wasn’t the sinner.”

   “I believe it most likely was,” William said. “I think he was only barely allowed to come here in the first place. He’d no real malice in him, but he was a selfish man. With a demon’s impulses to corrupt him, no doubt the soul grew dark as sin itself.” He looked over at Buffy. “How did the demon lose hold of him?”

   “The curse was broken. Something made him happy.”

   “What could that have been?”

   “He got laid,” Buffy said. She choked and sputtered. “I did not mean to say that!”

   “What did you mean to say?” William said, with a broad grin.

   “I... was trying to come up with some lie.”

   “I guessed that,” William said, amused. “You can’t lie, you know.”

   “Can’t I?”

   “None of us can. We’re not really speaking, you see. We just _are_ . It’s very difficult to _be_ a lie. Every part of you would have to believe it.”

   That didn’t make sense to Buffy. “I feel like I’m speaking.”

   “You’re newborn,” William said. “You still remember your body so clearly, everything is very physical for you. It makes everything around you more physical as well. That’s why I was so startled when I had to sit down – such bodily impulses are usually beyond us.” He gazed at her. “You are fascinating, Miss Summers,” he said. “When you feel you’ve settled in, might I have permission to visit with you again?”

   “Sure,” Buffy said. “But only if you stop calling me Miss Summers.”

   “Why?”

   “Because there’s no way on earth I’m calling you Mr. Pratt.” Spike would kill her for calling him a prat, she was sure. Wasn’t it something rude? She knew he used that word on Xander all the time.

   “You’re not on earth,” William said with a shy smile. “But I suppose in your era surnames are considered overly formal. William will do.”

   “And I’m Buffy,” Buffy said. She still couldn’t get over how strange he was. “Um... how do I get home?”

   William shrugged. “Just go home. There’s no time or place here. What is home to you?”

   “My mother,” Buffy said.

   And there was Joyce. And Buffy was home – this was her house in Sunnydale. She reeled. “Where’d William go?”

   Joyce shrugged. “Away,” she said cryptically. “Now, I’m so glad to have you here! Until you’re settled in, would you like to follow normal routine? Supper? How about some pizza?”

   “That sounds _great!_ ” Buffy said.

   “You want to think some up?” Joyce said. “You’re newer – your memory of it is probably better than mine.”

   Buffy thought about pizza, and there was one in a box on the dining room table. It didn’t appear, it was just always there, and the scent wafted through the house. “So how does all this work?”

   Joyce smiled at her. “It’s all a dream, Buffy. That’s how it all works.”

   Dreams of her house, of her life, of the world itself…. No vampires to slay, no danger to seek out, her friends safe on Earth….

   “Yeah,” Buffy said, thoughtfully. “It _is_ a dream.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

   Buffy was told she would probably feel better with a routine for a while. Joyce admitted she still did herself, being not much older than Buffy in this place. Eat, sleep, go out, as if everything were ordinary, and she were really living a life. “So, are you saying that it gets to the point where we don’t eat or sleep or anything?”

   “So they tell me,” Joyce said. “I’m not there myself, yet. There have been days I’ve forgotten to eat. Never felt a need.”

   “Doesn’t it get boring if you’re not... sort of doing stuff?”

   “They say it doesn’t. I really wouldn’t know. We’re both just babies here, really.”

   “So, what do you do all day?”

   “Go to the gallery,” Joyce said. “Visit other people’s artwork. I like to stop by Paris – I can spend hours at the Louvre.”

   “You can just go to Paris?”

   “There were people who lived there, I can see it through their eyes,” Joyce said. “Didn’t you say William was just at Hyde Park? Pretty much anywhere you can go, and anywhere you can imagine. There’s quite a few little fantasy worlds that pop up. When I start feeling tired I go home, check on you girls, maybe watch a little something.”

   “Something on Earth?”

   “Or television. It all sort of blends together after a while.”

   “So... you can just watch anything we’re doing? I mean, like...  _ everything? _ ”

   “We can be shut out,” Joyce said. “I think we can, anyway. I’ve yet to look down and see you girls in the shower or anything. And sometimes you’ll call me – though, time is a little subjective here, so I’ll get a message while I was out, and go to check the tv, and it’ll be just as you’re sending it to me. Dawn tends to call on me more than you do. Did.”

   “Can we check on her?” Buffy asked.

   “Sure.”

   Buffy turned on the TV and waited. Slowly Dawn’s room faded up onto the screen. Dawn was tear-streaked and pale, curled up on her bed as if her world had ended. Buffy realized it pretty much had. Xander was there, trying to offer her a cup of – Buffy thought it was probably hot cocoa, given the marshmallow in it. Dawn didn’t like marshmallows....

   “Hey there, Dawnie,” Xander said. “I know. It feels...” He sat down at the edge of the bed, and then shook his head. “There’s nothing I can say,” he eventually finished. “I should say that she knew what she was doing. I should say that she was the slayer, and that she always knew this was her calling. I should say she loved you more than anything in the world. And I should say... I know I should say it’s not your fault – which it isn’t, by the way. Your fault. But really, all I feel like I can say is... it really sucks.” He sniffed, and Dawn sobbed, and Buffy felt uncomfortable watching, even, and even more with her mother there. Dawn was one thing. Seeing Xander’s grief... that was another.

   “I think I’ll leave you alone,” Joyce said to Buffy. She touched Buffy’s shoulder before heading... away. Again, Buffy was left with the feeling that Joyce was right there, but she didn’t really know where. It was kind of Joyce to realize Buffy would rather be alone in this. Buffy slid down to the floor and leaned against the couch, really wishing she could reach out and comfort Dawn. But she couldn’t. Buffy herself felt wonderful – she was safe and home and she had her mother. Except that Dawn was so sad.

   Xander and Dawn both wept for a while, and then Xander left to go hold Anya, leaving Dawn to hold her teddy bears. “You should have let me die,” Dawn said to the empty room. “You should have...” She rolled over, ignoring the cup of sweet cocoa. “They’ll put you in the ground,” she whimpered. “I’m sorry. I wish I knew where you were.”

   Buffy sort of wondered that herself. And the wondering changed the picture.

   There she was. It wasn’t herself, it was just her corpse. There was a coffin set out in Spike’s crypt – probably used once before, but it was very clean and polished. Buffy wasn’t in it. Spike had her laid out on a blanket atop his cement sarcophagus, but not like a corpse. Buffy was curled on her side, her hands up near a pillow, as if she were asleep. She would have looked very peaceful if it weren’t for her face... which Buffy wished she wasn’t seeing. The body was clearly in rigor-mortis. The eyelids were pulled back, and there was an unnatural expression on her still face. It looked hideous. Buffy realized it wouldn’t look so bizarre if Spike hadn’t made the body look otherwise so comfortable.

   Why wasn’t it in the coffin? Why wasn’t it lying on its back all respectfully? Not that this was disrespectful, but she wasn’t properly laid out like a corpse, either, and it seemed just a little off. As she watched, Spike reached out for the corpse, touched her hair...

   “You’re not...” Buffy said with distaste. This was way too serial-killer corpse-loving for her. “Oh, god, Spike, you’re not....”

   “Willow’s gonna come bring you a black dress to bury you in,” Spike said softly. “You should be past... this... when she gets here. We’ll lay you out proper then.” He took up a handful of her hair. Artfully, reverently, he arranged it over her face, so it didn’t look so strange and staring. “There you go, love,” he said. “Now you might just be sleeping.”

   Oh, was that all he was doing. “Thanks,” Buffy whispered to herself. She hadn’t liked the look on the corpse’s rigid face, but she also hadn’t liked the idea of being covered by a sheet.

   “Any time.”

   Buffy frowned. “Can you hear me?”

   Spike didn’t answer. Two tears escaped his eyes, but he didn’t try to brush them away. He turned and sat on the sarcophagus, perched beside the body. After a moment he reached out and touched the back of the corpse’s hand, very delicately. “Wish you were about to wake up,” Spike said. “Dawn... Dawn sort of asked me if I could bring you back. To be like me. I told her no. Told her the truth, I’d have to have caught you before you died proper. Scary thing is, I dunno if I would have or not.”

   He stared into space. “I’d like to think I wouldn’t’ve. I’d like to think I’d respect who you are enough to just let you die. But the thought that you’re gone….” He was crying in earnest now. “The truth is, if I’d caught you dying, and thought I could keep you, even a little bit. God, Buffy. Give every drop of blood to think you were about to get up again,” he whispered. “If any part of it was you... any part at all, you know I’d still... bloody worship you, god  _ you stupid fucking bitch, why’d you have to go fucking die on me! _ ” he shouted to the empty crypt.

   He stood up and started pacing. “Bind me with promises and people you bloody care about, unfinished business and vampires to slay, what the hell, bitch! Couldn’t I be allowed to die with you, make the grand gesture and finally give myself to the sun, but  _ no _ , that’s not good enough for Buffy, have to say you’re bloody  _ counting on me _ , and get the niblet all grievy and  _ don’t leave me _ . Well, it’s  _ my bloody unlife, you know! _ ” he shouted at the corpse. “Gonna leave me here alone in it, bitch? Well, bugger you, I’m done!”

   His rant was so painfully cute that Buffy chuckled.

   “Don’t you  _ laugh _ at me, bitch, I’m mad at you!” Spike shouted.

   Buffy was startled. “Okay, you  _ can _ hear me.” Spike had covered his face with his hand, and made no reply. “Spike?” Buffy asked. “Spike, wave if you’re hearing me.”

   Nothing. She still couldn’t believe it a coincidence, though. It had happened too many times. “Damn. How do I do this? Hey,” Buffy said to him. “I know you’re sad. But I’m fine. Really. I’m great. Mom’s here, and it’s peaceful.... There’s nothing more I need to do. You know?”

   “At least you’re at rest,” he said to himself.

   “Yeah. I am.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. Rest sounded like a really good idea. It had been a busy day, what with the Glory-fighting and the dying and the welcoming party and the traveling to metaphysical London with the soul of the man that demon was occupying...

   Weird idea that was.

   “I really am okay, Spike. Really.”

   “It’s not fair,” he said to himself. “You always... even thinking about you, Buffy. You always made me feel so alive. And now I....” He sank to the floor. “I’m so sorry, pet.”

   “Spike...”

   “I’m sorry I failed you.”

   “You didn’t.” She hadn’t expected any one of them to survive Glory. Spike had done all he could, hadn’t he? He was still limping from that fall she’d seen. That was a scary big fall. “Glory was a god, Spike. I swear, it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Not Giles or Willow or anyone. I chose this. Hey.” She actually tried to get his attention. “Hey. Remember when you said, every slayer has a death wish? Death is my gift, Spike. I finally get it now. This is my reward.” She smiled at the television. “I get to stay with every one of you. I’m here watching over you. And I’m free of it all.”

   He was curled up, his head on his knees, sobbing again.

   “I don’t know if you can hear me, Spike. But you know who else is here? The man you should have been.”

   Spike didn’t seem to hear anymore. He was curled up within himself, and whatever she had done that had reached him, she couldn’t get through again.

   But he had shown her it could be done. “Dawn?” she asked. Slowly, the image changed back to her grieving sister. “Dawn. Hey, kiddo. I’m here.” Dawn stared empty and tragic at the wall. “I want you to picture me sitting beside you,” Buffy said. “Stroking your hair like I did when you were small. Remember? When you’d sneak into my bedroom, and I’d give you my dolls, and I’d be the mom, and you’d be the older sister for once. ‘Cause I’m still right here, Dawn. I still love you.”

   “It should have been me,” Dawn said quietly.

   “No!” Buffy said loudly. “No, it should not! No, Dawn. Don’t waste all my hard work that way. You need to stay safe. You deserve a  _ life. _ ”

   “It should have been me,” Dawn whispered again.

   Buffy sighed. “It’s okay, Dawn,” she said. “I’m still with you. I’ll  _ always _ be with you. Close your eyes. I love you.” Buffy started singing a little lullaby their mother used to sing to them. And whether Dawn could actually hear her or not, she did close her eyes. It had been days since she’d had any proper sleep, Buffy knew. She sank into darkness, and the tv faded out.

   “You can actually enter dreams, if you try hard enough,” came a voice. Buffy looked up. It was William, standing in the middle of the living room.

   “That was quick,” Buffy said.

   “Was it?”

   Buffy shook her head. “Spike was always impatient, too.”

   William looked embarrassed. “I like to think I’m nothing like that creature,” he said, but he didn’t meet her eyes as he said it. “There’s no real time here. I waited until a moment when you... seemed to want to see me.”

   Buffy frowned. “How...?”

   William opened his mouth, and then stopped. “I think you’re a bit too physical to understand it, Mis – Buffy,” he said. “I merely... allowed myself to be aware of you. For all I knew, it could have seemed like weeks to you. How long...?”

   “‘Couple hours,” Buffy said.

   “Ah. Well. You didn’t appear to be against seeing me again. Do you mind that I’ve come to call?”

   “Nope,” Buffy said. “But I didn’t actually... call you or anything.”

   “No,” William said. “But perhaps you had a question I could answer for you?” Buffy wasn’t sure. “Were you wondering how to contact Earth?”

   “Oh, yeah,” Buffy said. “Do they actually hear me when I talk, or is it just coincidence?”

   “They feel you, more than hear you,” William said. “And not always. Some are more... in tune than others. Some don’t want to hear. Some will only hear what they might have been thinking anyway. But you can influence, and suggest, and yes, sometimes even enter dreams. But you can also shout until you’re blue in the face, as it were, and get nothing. I can’t make that monster act human, for instance.”

   “You mean Spike?” Buffy asked.

   “Yes,” William said with distaste. “ _ Spike. _ ”

   “Can he feel you at all?”

   “I haven’t tried in a century,” William said. “I suspect he hates me as much as I detest him.”

   “He seemed to feel me.”

   William regarded her, his face impassive. He said nothing more regarding Spike. “Did you reach the little girl?” he asked instead.

   “Dawn,” Buffy said. “I think I gave her some comfort. I’m not sure.”

   “No doubt she feels guilt for your death.”

   “They call it survivor’s guilt,” Buffy said. “I know. I’ve felt it myself.” She tilted her head back. “What right did I have to survive, when others didn’t? I’m no better than them. I was just... hit with a birthright of super-strength and spidey senses and weird prophetic dreams.”

   “I had heard of slayers,” William said. He came and perched on the edge of her couch. It was such a different posture from Spike’s usual relaxed slouch, Buffy couldn’t help but blink at it, and shake her head. It was really more like seeing Spike’s fussy, uptight brother than it was like seeing Spike himself. “I never really believed such heroism could be possible.”

   “You should have met two of them,” Buffy said. “Or been at their arrivals, anyway.”

   William closed his eyes in distaste. “He killed  _ two _ of them?”

   “Yes.”

   William scoffed, and glared at nothing in particular. “You’d think he’d have the decency to just die,” he said. “I always prayed he’d meet with a slayer.” He shook his head. “I suppose that’s just one more... no,” he said, turning back to Buffy. “I very quickly learned not to involve myself in the arrivals. If the victims wish to see me, they do. Otherwise, I stay out of their way. You knew these slayers he killed?”

   “I heard of them. He told me about them. The same night he told me about you, actually.”

   “About me?”

   “About the man he was. Before he was killed.”

   William shook his head. “I hate to think what he said about me.”

   “He didn’t sound particularly fond, no,” Buffy said, half mocking his formal accent. “He said you were a poet.”

   Now William was definitely blushing. “Just... some scribbles. To occupy my idleness. Idle hands, as they say.”

   “As they say what?” Buffy had heard the phrase “idle hands” before, but never the full saying.

   “Idle hands are... um... well...” his voice sank to a whisper, “the devil’s plaything.” William seemed embarrassed to be mentioning  _ the devil _ .

   “I somehow can’t imagine you being useful to the devil,” Buffy said with a chuckle. William was so fussy and sweet and sad. He oozed propriety out of every pore.

   “Well, no,” William said. “The devil had to get me out of the way, first.” He was looking down at Buffy as he said this, and caught her eyes again. There was a long, long moment as the two souls gazed at each other. “I... I should like to introduce you to someone,” he finally said.

   “Who?”

   “My mother,” William said. “I’ve already discussed it with her. She’s eager to meet you.”

   “You told her all about me?”

   “No. Merely that I wished to introduce her to the latest soul whose arrival I was called to. I... am a little nervous about informing her you are acquainted with a demon, but... I-I feel I should like her to meet you. Is that all right with you?”

   “Sounds like a date,” Buffy said, jumping to her feet. “I think I’d like to ‘perceive’ a good night’s sleep, first. How about tomorrow?”

   “There is no time, here,” William said again. “Simply call on me. For that matter, simply be open to seeing me. I have little else to occupy my attention. Unlike you, I’ve no family or friends on Earth to engage me.” He gave a little bow and gently took her hand. “Until tomorrow, M – Buffy,” he said.

   “Till then.”

   William went to the door and opened it. He paused. “Dreams,” he said.

   “What?”

   “If you want to enter a dream,” he said. “It is easier if you perceive yourself asleep, as well.” He looked back at her. “It might help you comfort your sister.”

   “Thanks,” Buffy said.

   “My pleasure, Miss Summers,” he said. He seemed like he wanted to say something else, but he left quickly. God, he held himself stiffly. Stick up the ass, as Spike would have said of him. Buffy supposed it made sense for his era, but damn.

   Buffy suddenly realized who William reminded her of, and it wasn’t Spike. It was Jonathan. Bizarre, semi-suicidal, lonely, nerdy Jonathan. And not nerdy like Xander was, with a sense of humor and a certain social gift which did allow him to meld easily into groups. No, Jonathan had, as far as Buffy had been able to see, no real friends at all, and had longed to take short-cuts with magic, changing the very world because he felt unable to change himself. William seemed much more like that than like the passionate, open, sardonic, untamable creature Spike had always been. Oddly enough, Buffy found herself missing Spike. Well, that was weird.

   Of course, even with the fussy little glasses and the butterscotch hair, William was lots cuter than Jonathan ever was. Though, she wondered if that would have been the case in the 1880's. She’d seen drawings from back then. Tall, dark men with heavily shaped moustaches were in vogue. Fussy little pale guys with high cheekbones? Probably would have been considered too womanly. Funny thought, given the powerhouse he’d become. Or... that Spike had become. This was going to be very confusing, Buffy realized.

   She closed the door and went back into the house, where she and Joyce watched some tv before Buffy found herself – almost without walking upstairs – in her room, in bed, and ready to go to sleep.

   “Dreams,” Buffy said. “Dreams.”

   ***

 

   In Dawn’s dream, she was standing alone in a green field, calling and calling. “Buffy!  _ Buffy!” _

   “Dawn, I’m here.”

   “Buffy, don’t leave me.”

   Buffy came up and hugged her, holding her close against her. She kissed her smooth cheek and brushed the hair from her face. “Dawn, honey. I’m never going to leave you. Do you understand? I’m always here.”

   “Don’t leave. Please don’t leave, Buffy. I’m sorry.”

   “No. No, baby, you don’t have to be sorry. This is what I want.”

   “You want to leave me!”

   “No, Dawn. Listen. I want you safe. I want you to have the life I could never have. A simple, ordinary life. Grow up. Fall in love. Go to school. Get a boring job and have kids and roll on the floor with your fat little grandchildren, and forget about the demons and the monsters and all the death and screaming. Just live.”

   “But you’re dead.”

   Buffy kissed Dawn’s forehead. “This was my calling, Dawn. This is my gift. You’re my blood. You’re my life. You live it for me, Dawn. Don’t think about the death. Think about life.”

   “I don’t want you to be dead. It should have been me.  _ I’m _ the key. It should have been me!”

   “Dawn–”

   “No. No!” Dawn screeched and pulled away from Buffy, running across the green meadow, and suddenly she vanished in a blaze of green light. Dawn screamed for a moment, and then Buffy was shocked back into her own bed, as Dawn herself woke up.

   “Dawn!” Buffy tore her way out of bed, ready to run downstairs and turn on the television, but her desperation clearly called out to... whatever it was that shaped her corner of the world she was in. As she passed the window she saw Dawn there, in her own bed, sitting bolt upright. Buffy stopped and knelt at the window. “Dawn, can you hear me?”

   Dawn couldn’t. A light snapped on, and a second later there was Willow, kneeling by Dawn’s bedside, trying to catch her in a hug. “Dawnie, it’s okay. It was just a dream.”

   “No,” Dawn said. “No, it can’t be real. Buffy can’t be dead!”

   “Oh, Dawn,” Tara said, stopping at the door. “Hey. Just take deep breaths and try to relax.”

   Clumping feet ran up the stairs as Xander, followed by Anya, came charging into the room. “Is everything okay? Dawnie, everything okay?”

   “She just had a nightmare,” Tara said. “It happens.”

   “It’s gonna be okay, Dawn,” Willow said. “We’re gonna make everything okay.”

   “Don’t lie to her,” Tara said softly.

   Everyone turned to stare at her.

   “S-sorry,” she said, but she squared her shoulders. “But we can’t make it okay.” She came forward and sat on the edge of Dawn’s bed. “Buffy’s gone. And that’s never gonna be okay, will it.”

   Dawn shook her head.

   Tara looked at the others. “You see?” she said. “But Dawn, you just need to grieve,” Tara said. “And then... it will start to feel better. It’ll feel awful now, and it’ll never be okay. But... you grow through it.”

   “But I’ve done nothing  _ but _ grieve, my whole life!” Dawn insisted. “I’m not even a year old! And dad leaves, and Angel leaves, and Cordelia, and Oz, and then Riley leaves, and Mom dies, and Buffy....”

   “Those were me, Dawn,” Buffy tried to tell her. “None of those people left  _ you _ .” Most of them Dawn had never even met. Not even their father, now that Buffy thought about it. Riley and Joyce, okay, but all the others were just implanted memories taken from Buffy’s life. But Buffy’s life had been fraught with people who left... and never came back. And Dawn, who was made from Buffy, had to suffer the pain of it all, just as strongly. Poor Dawn had to suffer Buffy’s abandonment. It didn’t seem fair.

   “No. It can’t be real,” Dawn said. “She’s gotta come back. She’s just gotta come back!”

   “That’s not how it works, sweetie,” Tara said.

   “But everyone always leaves,” Dawn went on.

   “Not everyone,” Xander said. “We’re all right here.”

   Tara brushed Dawn’s hair back. “And we’re always going to be here for you, baby,” she said. “Me and Willow and Xander and... and Anya,” she added. “And Spike. We’re all gonna be here for you.”

   “Where is Spike?” Dawn asked.

   “He’s... um... he’s with...” Willow seemed awkward about it.

   “Spike’s taking care of some details,” Tara said. “But you’ll see him tomorrow night. It’ll all seem more real after...”

   “After I see Buffy’s body,” Dawn said, with stark coldness. “When I see she’s still dead.”

   “After the ceremony,” Tara said evenly.

   “I want her buried next to Mom,” Dawn said sullenly.

   Tara looked at Willow. “We can’t do that, sweetie,” Willow said. “She needs to be at the edge of the cemetery, on the ley... because we can’t tell anyone,” she finished. “But I made a nice headstone,” she added. “Just magicked it up. It’s pretty.”

   “I don’t care,” Dawn said, rolling over. She buried her head under one of her bears and started to cry. Tara nodded everyone else out of the room, and set about humming Dawn a little song.

   “Thanks, Tara,” Buffy told her. It was exactly what Buffy herself would have been doing.

   “Did you really just magic up a headstone?” Xander asked Willow as they left.

   “Yep,” Willow said. “Well, Spike stole a blank stone from the stonemason’s, but I carved the inscription.”

   Buffy found herself unexpectedly touched. “What’s it say?”

   Rather than Willow answering, the image switched to the stone itself. It was lying on its back in a tuft of grass. Buffy read the inscription by moonlight. “Buffy Anne Summers,” it read. “Beloved sister. Devoted friend. She saved the world a lot.” Buffy chuckled at it.

   “Are you sure this is where we want her buried?”

   Giles’ voice. Buffy’s focus switched, and the image seemed to zoom out.

   “This is what the witch asked for,” Spike said. She could only see his head. He was halfway down a deep hole, not very cleanly cut. It was her grave, she realized. Spike really was digging her grave. “She’s... cleaning Buffy up,” he said. “Getting her changed.” Buffy was glad. She didn’t like the idea of Spike ogling her naked body, even in death. “She said here, out of the way.”

   “Yes, but why  _ here? _ ” Giles asked.

   “Dunno,” Spike said. “Some rot about ley lines and power centers and protection spells and all. I get it. There’s lots of nasties might like to feast on the slayer, even...” He stopped and turned his attention back to digging. Another shovelful of dirt landed on the tarp.

   Giles frowned. “Still. It does seem a little  _ too _ out of the way. Closer in to the center of the cemetery might have been more prudent. I can see how we’d need to be far enough away to not draw attention, but this far off and the groundskeeper is bound to notice the grave that shouldn’t be here.”

   “If he does,” Spike said, “I’ll pull his  _ other _ ear off.”

   “Yes, very funny,” Giles said.

   Spike glared at him. He hadn’t been joking. Buffy knew that for a fact. Ears only took about eight pounds of pressure to remove. She suspected Spike could do it with only a minor headache. “This is where Red said to dig it,” Spike said. “So this is where it’s dug.” He turned back to the task. “I’m not gonna have some ghoul feasting on her.”

   “Yes, you always wanted that hono–”

   “Dare finish that sentence,” Spike said darkly, “and you won’t be making any more.” It didn’t even sound angry. That was what made it so terrifying. He looked up at Giles. “I saw what you did. You’re no better than me.”

   “What I did?” Giles said.

   Spike stared at him, held his eyes, and eventually Giles looked away. He looked ashamed. “It was necessary.”

   “Like letting the little bit die?” Spike asked. “Like playing fast and loose with the deadline, making us bloody wait  _ around? _ ”

   “What are you saying?”

   “If I’d gone in and gotten the niblet out long before your damn deadline,” Spike said. “If we’d gotten her away before she even went up that damn tower. If we’d played a snatch and grab rather than a let’s defeat a bloody god. If–”

   “There are always ifs,” Giles said. “It was the best plan we had.”

   “It can’t have been,” Spike said. “It failed, dinnit?”

   “It did not,” Giles said. “Buffy fulfilled her calling, she saved the world–”

   “All due respect,” Spike said, “which in this case is absolutely none, you hypocritical ponce, I’d rather be living in a split level in hell right now with Buffy alive and well, with every last one of you blighters turned into Scooby Snacks for demons than be digging this  _ god damned grave! _ ” He glared at Giles. “Now get the hell out of my sight and let me bloody do it.”

   Giles stared at him for a long moment. “If it’s any consolation,” he said, “there’s a part of me that agrees with you.” He stood up to go. “And it’s the same part that killed that young man.”

   Killed...? Oh, god. Buffy realized he meant Ben. Ben had been pretty beaten up after Glory had left. It wouldn’t have surprised Buffy if Ben had died from his injuries, anyway. But Giles went and.... Oh well. Old Ripper still hid inside the guy, she supposed. But Spike was right. Giles was a killer as much as Spike was. Always had been.

   Buffy stared at Spike as he labored in the dirt, digging and digging and digging, shovelful after shovelful, all alone in the dark. As he wished to be, Buffy was sure. She couldn’t imagine he wanted anyone to see him. His dirty face was streaked with clean white lines, where the tears kept coursing down his cheeks.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

   Buffy wasn’t able to stop thinking about Spike and Dawn for most of what she perceived as the night. She watched until Spike felt the grave was deep enough, and then jumped out of the grave as the sky began to lighten. Daylight... Buffy had been dead for twenty-four hours, now. Spike dragged himself back to his crypt, and stopped at an irrigation spigot in the cemetery to wash the dirt off. Buffy had been caught by the image of Spike with his shirt off, washing grave dirt out of his white hair.

   Willow was in his crypt when he got there. “I just finished,” she said. “She’s... decent.” She was white faced and nervous, and she looked exhausted.

   Spike looked no better. More bruises seemed to be rising. “Grave’s dug,” he said simply.

   Willow still looked nervous. “You dug it where I told you? On the ley lines?”

   “Yeah.”

   “Exactly where I told you?” she pressed.

   “Yeah!” Spike snapped.

   Willow sighed, and Spike seemed to relent. “You sure that’ll protect it?” he asked.

   “I’m sure I’m sure,” Willow said, decisive. “I gotta get back to Dawn and Tara. I’ll see you when...” She stopped at the look on Spike’s face. “Later,” she said. She headed back through the cemetery alone.

   The coffin was closed, but Spike opened it when he got inside. Buffy’s body was dressed in one of Joyce’s old black dresses – Buffy hadn’t had anything subdued enough in her own closet, she knew. Her hair was arranged neatly around her face, looking full and freshly brushed. Willow had done her make up – Buffy could tell. Willow never got the eyeshadow shaded right. Of course, the death pallor wasn’t helping. They hadn’t puffed her body up with formaldehyde, or anything, so she looked very strange. Her face wasn’t full enough, her skin had sunk in, and her eyes were still ever so slightly open. There was a dark shadow to the side of her face, where the blood had pooled in the position she’d been in before. But rigor had been and gone, she could tell that.

   Very, very gently Spike reached down and touched the corpse’s hair. He pinched a tendril between his fingers, fondling it. It didn’t seem creepy, this time. Just sad. He said nothing, but at least he had stopped crying. Finally he pulled away. He pulled his green chair over and sat down before the open casket, watching her. Buffy was certain he was going to sit there all damn day, waiting for sunset, and the ceremony. Attended only by Scoobies, Buffy knew. Keeping secrets. The Scoobies were always keeping secrets. And this time, Spike had to bear the brunt of the labor. His crypt, his strength, his understanding of death. He’d just dug a six foot hole all by himself with nothing but a shovel. 

   “Thank you,” Buffy whispered to Spike. She knew how much work that had been.

   “Any time, love,” Spike whispered.

   There he went again. He seemed so much more able to hear her than Dawn or the rest of the Scoobies. “How do you hear me so well?”

   He didn’t respond that time.

   “Tell Dawn I love her,” Buffy said. “Will you do that? Take care of her for me.”

   Nothing. He just kept staring at the body.

   “Spike?”

   “Yes?”

   That wasn’t Spike. Buffy looked up, and there was William. He was standing in the doorway, a soft smile on his face. “Oh. Is... did...?”

   William looked embarrassed as he realized where he was. “This is your personal room.”

   “Did I call you?”

   “I thought you had.”

   Buffy looked back out the window. It only showed the outside lawn of Revello Drive, now, showing a bright, sunny morning. “I... I was kind of talking to Spike.”

   “How could you endure that creature?” He seemed genuinely curious.

   “I don’t know,” Buffy said. “We were mortal enemies. I guess that’s kind of a bond in the end.”

   William regarded her. “Why didn’t you kill him, when he was bound?”

   “What?”

   “Once he was no longer dangerous. This... chip you called it. Why didn’t you kill him instantly?”

   “I don’t know....” Buffy had considered this question before, and hadn’t been able to come up with a satisfactory answer for herself. Part of it was that he’d helped her with Acathla. That was kind of a big deal – a vampire helping to save the world, because he was in love with someone. It didn’t match any of what the watchers had told her was normal vampire behavior. Part of it was because of Angel, she knew. He was part of Angel’s family, and she didn’t like the idea of dusting him out of hand. And she liked to think of herself as saving lives rather than being an executioner, and Spike couldn’t kill, so there were no lives to be saved. But... “I never really did want to kill Spike.”

   She stopped. It was another one of those things she hadn’t really meant to say. She’d meant to say something along the lines of  _ he didn’t seem like a threat _ but she knew he was still dangerous, and she still didn’t want to kill him. “He was helpless.”

   “If you were mortal enemies, how could he trust you when he was helpless?”

   Buffy frowned. “I guess... I guess that’s the closest thing he ever had to a friend.”

   William’s nostrils flared, and he swallowed. “Are you free?”

   It took Buffy a moment to realize he meant was she busy. “Yeah, I guess. I’m not tired anymore.... How long did I sleep?”

   “Time means nothing here,” William said. “Space, and time. You’re very physical, so it all seems real, but you’ll come to realize none of it is. Do you still wish...?”

   “To meet your mom? Yeah. Um... I should tell my mom first...”

   “Why?”

   “She’ll wonder where I am.”

   “You’re right here,” William said. “She knows that.”

   Buffy realized he was right. No one had said goodbye yesterday. She still had this feeling that Joyce was just in the other room, though she didn’t know how or why she had that feeling. “All right,” Buffy said. “How do we...?”

   “I figured we’d walk,” William said. “You’re still very young. It’s easier to walk somewhere.”

   They left the house, headed down Revello Drive, wandered through Sunnydale, which shifted and moved and turned into corners of what Buffy assumed were Victorian London, or simple mist. “So, your mother’s not just... right here?”

   “She’s much older than your mum,” William said. “We’ve been here a long time. Sometimes it takes her a little while... well. You’ll see.” He took her up a flight of steps of a fine looking townhouse. Buffy wished she could see it more clearly, but it was very foggy. It was even worse when they stepped inside. There was nothing to see. Buffy found herself blinking in the nothing, straining to see rooms which did not seem to be there.

   “Mother. Mother? There’s someone I want to introduce to you, Mother,” William said.

   How could he seem so calm? Buffy found her fists clenching, as if preparing for a fight. They were nowhere. Buffy couldn’t even describe what she was seeing as mist. It just... wasn’t anything. She felt completely untethered, lost, possibly falling, and yet William seemed completely at home.

_  Oh? _

   The voice wasn’t a voice, either. Buffy just heard some kind of attention, from someone, which she translated into something in her head.

   “Mother, allow me to present Miss Buffy Summers.”

_ Oh. _

   Buffy still saw nothing.

   “Mother, Buffy is very new here,” William said. There was some kind of question, which Buffy didn’t catch, and couldn’t understand, but William seemed a little ashamed. “Sort of,” he said. “Miss Summers is acquainted with, um... you know who. Back on earth.”

   “Oh, dear,” William’s mother said. Now it was a voice. A sweet, very kindly voice, very English. “Not another one.”

   “No, actually. He didn’t kill her. Or... failed to kill her, was it? No. It would seem Miss Summers is... a friend.”

   “A friend? Well, that’s... interesting. And she’s here?” The voice slowly formed into a sort of shape, and William’s mother gazed down on Buffy with eyes as piercing blue as her son’s.

   William’s mom reminded Buffy of nothing so much as a bird. A small, delicately boned woman, with a full smile – when she used it – and greying hair that might once have been blond. Buffy was reminded of her own grandmother, or – she glanced at William – her own face in the mirror. William’s mother regarded Buffy with a tilt to her head, and a distant serenity which made Buffy feel sloppy and insecure and only twelve years old.

   William seemed nervous, somewhat fidgety, birdlike himself in his agitation. A clucking hen. “We... ah, I, that is. Very much wished. Where... ah... the parlor, perhaps? She’s not used to...”

   William’s mother ignored her son’s nervousness.  “Goodness me. She’s very physical, isn’t she.”

   “She’s newly arrived, Mother.”

   “That would explain it,” William’s mother said. “For the most part. In that case, allow us to make you more comfortable, Miss Summers. William, my dear, would you bring us some tea?”

   Slowly the mist coalesced into a sepia toned Victorian parlor, with a roaring fire and lace-trimmed table cloths. Buffy felt much less like Alice falling slowly down the rabbit hole. She was somewhere again. She took a deep breath as William’s mother sat on a teal couch and gently rearranged an embroidered pillow. 

   “Allow me to look at you properly,” William’s mother said, and she tilted her head, examining Buffy. With a sudden flash of recognition she said, “Oh, it’s you!” she said. “Such a pity. Still. You are most welcome to my home, Miss Summers.”

   “Please, call me Buffy.”

   The old woman smiled. “All these young things, and their modern behavior. Well, if it would make you more comfortable, my dear. Buffy, then. I suppose you might then refer to me as Anne.”

   Buffy smiled. “Anne’s my middle name.”

   Anne raised her eyebrow, in a gesture so like Spike’s that Buffy couldn’t help but be reminded. “Is it? Really. Ah, thank you, William. Please, make yourself comfortable,” she added to Buffy.

   Buffy sat down in a chair, and realized a second later that she didn’t really know how to sit in it. Victorian chairs didn’t seem to be made to actually rest your back on. She felt forced to straighten her metaphysical spine and perch on the edge, like she’d been seeing William do. “You have a lovely home, Anne,” Buffy said, accepting some tea in a delicately patterned cup.

   “Isn’t it, though? I was killed here.”

   Buffy blinked at the matter of fact way she said it, and glanced at William, who shrugged.

   “Right over there, in fact,” Anne continued, gesturing to the archway by the hall.

   “I’m... so sorry,” Buffy said.

   “It doesn’t bother me,” Anne said. “He meant well.”

   “What... what is she talking about?” Buffy asked William.

   “Your... Spike. Murdered her a few days after he rose,” William said. He clenched his jaw in the way that Buffy knew was him not saying the word  _ bastard _ under his breath.

   “He didn’t think of it that way, dear, I keep telling you,” Anne said. “I believe he truly thought he was saving me.”

   William scoffed.

   Buffy caught up quickly. “Spike tried to turn you?”

   “Oh, succeeded, I believe,” Anne said. “No memory of the actual awakening, of course. I was far gone by then. But yes, he made his attempt.”

   “So... there’s a vampire of you out there?” Buffy asked.

   “No. I’ve never been called to a single arrival. I believe something happened to it before it could do any killing. It matters little, of course. It’s the thought that counts.” She turned to her son. “William. You were so very prompt with the tea, my dear, thank you. Now would you go and make us some cucumber sandwiches?”

   William looked confused.

   “And make them the slow way, darling, there’s a good lad.”

   “Mother...”

   “A son brings a young woman home to meet his mother, he has to give them a few moments in private, my dear.”

   William blushed. “It isn’t like that, Mother.”

   “Of course it isn’t. The fact remains, I should like to speak to Miss Summers alone for a short while. Go on with you.” She was very firm, and very sweet.

   “Cucumber sandwiches,” he said.

   “And perhaps some watercress? You can collect it down by the spring at the country estate, darling. Take your time.”

   William looked resigned, and turned to Buffy. “My apologies. I believe I must take my leave of you.”

   “Go on, William,” Anne said. She turned to Buffy. “I must have a talk with your new friend.”

   It was clear this wasn’t quite how William had expected this to go. He headed out the door, glancing over his shoulder through the decorative little ropes, and then he was gone.

   “There. Now we can talk frankly, my dear,” Anne said. “Poor William hasn’t a notion of what’s going on, does he.” Anne shook her head. “The poor dear. He’s smitten.”

   Buffy looked down. “Yeah. He’s a sweetie.”

   “No,” Anne said. “Not him.”

   Buffy looked back up. “Hm?”

   “My other son. On Earth. He’s completely smitten with you.”

   Buffy opened her mouth. “How...?”

   “You think you’re the only one who looks in on him?” Anne asked. She smiled. “I’ve always watched over him. You’ve been a lovely influence upon him, my dear, I hope you know that.”

   Buffy did know that. But the fact remained – Spike was being watched over by his mother? “You... but Spike killed you.”

   “I was very ill,” Anne said. “I had the consumption, a terrible case. I believe your Spike thought he was saving me, making me immortal as he had been made. He still loved me, you see.”

   “You can’t love without a soul,” Buffy said automatically.

   Anne laughed. “Perhaps you cannot think very clearly about the consequences of your actions,” she said. “But it is demonstrably clear that my William – your  _ Spike _ – could still love, and love quite deeply. He was horrified by the creature my body was when it arose. That demon tried to wound him as deeply as it could. He ended its unlife abruptly, as kindly as was possible.”

   Buffy was stunned. “Spike turned you, and then killed you?” It sounded awful. Worse than what Angel had done, killing his own family. That was evil. What Spike had done – or had to do – was twisted, so confused even she didn’t know how to feel about it. It sounded evil, but evil done out of kindness and love, which didn’t make sense. It left love, evil, pain, kindness, and regret all tangled in a blood-soaked, ash-strewn heap.

   “He killed the demon. Yes. There wasn’t enough of my own nature left in it, you see.” She cocked her head at Buffy, just as Spike always did when he was thinking. “William doesn’t know this. He cannot bear watching his own demon. He is a very sensitive soul. I would prefer he never discover the details, but I saw all of it. I was watching – Spike –  then, as well.” she added. “It was a very difficult thing for Spike. He wanted me with him, and he didn’t fully understand. That creature my body became... wounded him deeply. So deeply, I don’t think Spike even remembers it any longer. He has never mentioned it in my observance. But I believe he still loves me, despite what happened. He has a soft spot for other people’s mothers, still.”

   “Does he?”

   “He would frequently leave mothers alive, if the circumstances were right. His own nature, holding the demon back from them. His human nature does not rise often – or it hadn’t, until this past year. But did you not see him with your own mother?” Anne asked. “I believe he fostered some of his affection for me onto her.”

   Buffy didn’t know what to say. She took a sip of her tea.

   “And of course, Spike loves you very dearly,” Anne said. Buffy felt almost ashamed about it.

   “It wasn’t anything I wanted.”

   Anne only smiled. “It has been painful for me to see his grief for you,” she told Buffy. “And yet... somehow, I believe the grief is good for my son. He needs to feel the reality of a death. I believe he’ll never be such a cold hearted killer now.”

   Buffy set her teacup down. “All right, why do you still call Spike your son? Your son is right here – or right over there, wherever there is, collecting memories of watercress.”

   “Because Spike  _ is _ my son,” Anne said. “In almost all the ways that matter, he is still the man he was. He has dreams and hopes, he challenges himself, and he is unfailingly devoted towards those he loves.”

   “But you know for a fact that he’s not  _ him _ .”

   “Everything important about him is still there,” Anne said. “Spike is as much my son as William is. In some ways, possibly even more.”

   Buffy stared at her. “How can you say that?”

   Anne smiled and took up her tea, in the same way Spike often took up a cigarette as he was speaking – something to do with his hands. “Please, do not ever tell William that I did,” she said, taking a sip. “He would be devastated. But this is a place of death. There is little that can be learned, and nothing that can be changed here. Thus there is no growth, no birth, no continuance. There is only stagnation here. William is the same as he ever was, moody, shy, sweet. Very sensitive. He never...” She set her teacup down. “William never had a chance to grow,” she said evenly.

   “Is that so terrible?” Buffy asked.

   “I never understood the popularity of that fool Barrie and his perpetual children running about in Neverland,” she continued. “It was popular, for a time just after my death, to call this place Neverland, and I always discouraged it when I could. Children should grow. My son was murdered, and all I wished to see –  how he might fall in love, become a husband or a father, how he would learn as he traveled the world, or even from simply reading chapbook romances – all of that was taken from him, and from myself. I wished to see my son  _ grow _ . William never will, now.”

   Anne shook her head, smiling. “But Spike...,” she said. “Spike has continued to grow, and learn, and change, and become more and more as time has passed. I grieved for all the death he felt he needed to cause, but I rejoiced in all he learned. He has loved deeply. He has broadened his horizons. He has traveled the world. I envy for William Spike’s freedom.” She stopped. “Not the killing,” she amended. “I am pleased that has been curtailed. But the  _ life _ he lives, within his death...”Anne sighed. “If only my son could have found such a life. Instead of the brief and quiet thing that was stolen from him. He had such potential within him. William does not know it, but I still grieve for the life he is never to live. And I will always honor and love Spike for living it.”

   “But... Spike’s a demon.”

   “A demon with all the potential my son always had,” Anne said. “I see William in Spike far more often than I see the monster. When he is killing and feeding, yes. I close my eyes in horror when I see it through the window. But when he is out dancing, or laughing, or carousing, or embracing his loved ones - within the realms of propriety, of course; I would not invade his privacy - that is my son. That is still my son. That is the child I birthed and reared and set out to make a place in the world. No one will ever make me believe otherwise. Least of all poor murdered William.”

   Buffy was torn. What Anne was saying made sense, but at the same time, she had chosen a demon over the soul of her own child. “But... William was the boy you raised. Not the demon.”

   “Do not mistake me, I love William dearly,” Anne said. “He is a kind and dutiful boy I would give my all for. I am most devoted to my William. He is the only reason I still remain on this plane.”

   “Whoa, wait, what?”

   Anne set her teacup aside. “You are very young, I had forgotten. This is a place of peace and joy, but it is not a place of change. Without change, there is only stagnation, and stagnation is nothing but death. This place is... an interim. Just as we have left Earth and come to this place, most continue on, leaving this place for somewhere else. Some believe it is to live again on Earth – many clearly do, and can be tracked there, reborn, but others... well. Some believe we eventually go somewhere else entirely. Some believe we merely become a mote of God. I myself prefer to leave the speculation to the philosophers. But it gets... tiring to live in nothing but peace and joy. Once all is finished, and those you care for on Earth are no more, and have joined you for a time... there is little to keep one here.”

   Buffy had wondered about that. She was enjoying herself, but she feared boredom eventually. She didn’t want to leave – she was so tired of all the heartache and the loneliness of Earth, and felt there was much to learn and experience here – but she also couldn’t imagine this was the end of all. “So you just decide to leave, and go?”

   “It is different for all of us,” Anne said. “And until you are ready, the concept is difficult to grasp. I myself cannot explain it. No one leaves here until they are ready to leave. I have been ready to leave for some time, but I remain. Even William’s dear father, God rest his soul. I told him he could move on when he asked. But I could not possibly leave poor William alone here. He would be devastated.”

   “Why couldn’t William go with you?”

   “He cannot. Until his body is destroyed, this is as far as he can go. He must remain for as long as the demon remains on Earth.”

   Buffy considered this. “I can’t decide if that’s sad or not.”

   “It is sad,” Anne said. “It is difficult for my son to witness the arrival of those your Spike has murdered. This last year, of your time, has been the only pure peace he has known.”

   “I thought this was heaven.”

   “It is not hell,” Anne said, as everyone had been saying. “Only the kind come here. The truly evil, those who were in life unrepentant murderers or sinners... they go elsewhere. But I do not know how or why. It is possible they have been sent to some sort of punishment. It is equally likely that they simply do not like it here, for the same reasons that  _ we _ , do. It is even possible that they  _ are _ here, and we, for whatever reason, do not see them. There are myriad possibilities, and as I say, I prefer to leave such speculation to the philosophers. I merely get on with the business of being.” She took up her teacup again. “Which is why I wished to speak to you, my dear. I’ve been watching you for some time.”

   “You have?”

   “I’ve been watching Spike. I see him outside my window all the time. You should look now, my dear. He’s calling to you.”

   Buffy turned to the elegantly curtained window, and saw a moonlit night, and a knot of people... her own funeral. Without properly acknowledging Anne, Buffy turned and dropped to her knees, unable to keep from watching. It was probably after midnight, from the position of the moon, and all her friends were gathered around her grave.

   The casket was being carried by Spike and Giles and Xander. Spike carried one side by himself. They set the casket down, and Willow and Tara joined hands. With a final word of power for a spell they lifted their hands, and the casket lowered evenly into the rough grave.  

   Giles appeared to be handling the ceremony. He wasn’t handling it well. “We’re here to commit to the ground the body of Buffy Summers, the Vampire Slayer. The best...” he sniffed, “...most gifted slayer... the world has ever known. The world owes her a debt like no other. But apart from her gifts, and her talents, and all she did for everyone... Buffy... was the daughter of my heart. And I will always love her.” He was crying softly, but he kept his British stiff upper lip. He took a small handful of earth from the pile on the tarp and sprinkled it in the grave, a symbol of the burial itself. “Rest in peace, my angel. There is none who deserves it more.”

   There was an awkward silence after that. No one seemed to know what to do. “Well. If there’s anyone who would... like to say anything?” Giles asked.

   There was dead silence for a long moment. Then Anya stepped up, bold as brass as always. “Buffy was our friend,” she said simply. “She was a slayer. And she fought demons. But she didn’t fight me, because I didn’t have any powers any more, even though I was a very powerful demon for over a thousand years and killed lots more men than all those vampires she took out every night, and really, what was the point of all that, when there were always more coming? But... that didn’t seem to matter to Buffy. She just kept doing it, night after night. Because she was a slayer. And... and she was a hero. And she was even a hero for those demons who weren’t demoning. And... that was really great of her. So. Thanks, Buffy.” She turned to Xander. “And then we...?”

   “Yeah,” Xander said, with a sad smile in her direction. Anya took up her own small handful of dirt and scattered it into the grave. Xander took her by the arm for a moment, and then took her place. “Buffy... was my hero,” Xander said. “She always made me believe I could be more than... the dumb guy with the lame grades and no girlfriend. Well, until... anyway. If it wasn’t for Buffy, I wouldn’t have believed in myself. But I did believe, because she believed. And every time I get stuck or scared or... lost, I ask myself... what would Buffy do? And I’m not so lost after that. So. I’m gonna keep on doing that. For the rest of my life. What would Buffy do? And when I figure out what that is, I’ll do it. For her. And I just want to say... thanks for that, Buffy. Thanks for believing in me. I love you, kid.” He sprinkled his own handful of earth.

   Tara stepped forward then, as far as Buffy could see because neither Willow nor Dawn seemed up to speaking yet. Dawn was white faced and teary. Willow looked like stone. “I didn’t know Buffy as long as most of you,” Tara said. “But she was always good to me. She was always kind and brave, and she protected the innocent. She accepted me as part of this new family... and it has been an honor to even know her. We’ll miss you, Buffy,” she said to the grave. And she added her handful of earth.

   Giles turned to Dawn. “Dawn, would you prefer to go last?” he asked. Dawn nodded, so Willow stepped up.

   “Buffy. I’m sorry I couldn’t... couldn’t stop what happened,” Willow said. “And if I could find a way to make it right, you know I would. All this power that I have... that I can reach... and what good is it, when your friends are taken away?” She took a deep breath, shaking so hard she could hardly get the words out. “You’re my best friend and I love you, I’m sorry!” She was done. Tara wrapped her arms around her. Willow moved her hand, and her magic caused a light breeze to blow a handful off the top of the pile, to sprinkle into the grave. The wind caught Dawn’s hair, and blew tendrils of it across her face.

   Dawn stepped forward. She stood at the edge of the grave straight-backed, as if a rod were taped to her spine, and she stared at everyone for a moment before she began to speak. “Buffy was my sister,” she said. “And she died for me. I’m sorry for that. I know every one of you would rather have Buffy here than me.”

   “No! No!” Sympathetic murmurs were coming from just about everyone but Spike, who was stone faced as a corpse.

   “It’s okay,” Dawn said. “I wish it, too. But Buffy didn’t, so... I have to accept that. Now Buffy... Buffy said...” Dawn couldn’t stop from crying now. “Buffy said to say... that she loved all of us... and... that we had to be strong. We had to be strong and be brave and take care... take care of each other... for her. That we had to live. That... that the hardest thing in the world is to live here, and... and we had... to....” She stopped, completely fazed by the tears.

   Tara came to comfort her. Dawn let her for a moment, and then took up a handful of earth in each hand and scattered it over the coffin. “Goodbye, Buffy,” she said, and her head bowed.

   No one else spoke for a long moment. Buffy realized then that no one had even looked at Spike, inviting him to add his part, add his handful of earth. She supposed it didn’t matter. He didn’t look up to speaking.

   Giles looked over everyone. “We now commit her body to the earth. Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust... as every slayer knows,” he said with a sad smile. “Willow? Tara?”

   Willow and Tara each pulled out two metal talismans. Standing on either side of the grave, the two witches dropped a talisman into each corner of the grave. “ _ Baruch atah Hashem Elokeinu melech haolam, dayan ha'emet, _ ” Willow said, which Buffy guessed was Hebrew, but didn’t understand. Then she added, “By Osiris, I call. Protect this body until the time of the resurrection, when fate decrees that all will be made right with the world.” Willow and Tara both put their hands together in an attitude of prayer, and then held them out to each other. As they faced each other, a glittering golden net of light seemed to stretch between them, and then settle to pin itself over the coffin, and then fade. The protection spell in place, Willow and Tara and Giles all prepared to leave.

   Giles cleaned his glasses as he turned to Willow. “I thought that the Jewish didn’t believe in the ultimate resurrection,” he said.

   “It’s just a bunch of words,” Willow said. “Part of the protection spell.”

   “Ah.”

   The girls and Giles all left. Xander looked to Spike, and then to the pile of dirt on the tarp. He went to the nearest tree and took up a shovel that waited there. “I guess we take turns?” he asked.

   Spike gave him a look of utter contempt. Then, without any ceremony at all, he seized the tarp by the edge, and lifted. The massive pile of dirt was heavy, so heavy the industrial tarp ripped at the edges, but Spike hooked his knees under it, and then his shoulder, and with a roar of coiled strength rolled the entire pile of earth over the grave. Most of it landed in the hole. The rest scattered around it, sliding off the edges of the tarp into the grass. The result was a messy pile of earth, dirt clods scattered around moon drenched landscape. The grave was now a slight indentation, maybe a foot deep around the edges, the rest in a heap in the center, the tarp half buried along one edge. Spike stopped and stared for a long moment, breathing hard. The grave was basically filled. “Yeah,” he said to Xander.

   Then he walked away. Limping, still. Buffy realized he still had broken bones from his fall. Spike had dug her grave, and carried her coffin, and buried her, and all still broken from trying to save Dawn. He was probably in agony. Xander took up his shovel, pulled out the tarp and cleaned up the grave, but there was really only detail work left to do.

   It had all been so concrete and sordid. People were shielded so much from death. Buffy herself, who visited morgues and funeral homes, who spent half her life plucking newborn vampires out of graves in cemeteries, even she had never had to deal with a corpse, prepare a body, fill a grave. Her mother’s death had all been neatly cared for by pathologists and morticians, funeral homes and cemetery directors. This had all been very personal, very immediate, and apart from Willow handling the washing and dressing, Spike had been the one to step up and handle all of it, from carrying the body, to waiting through the stages of death, to finding and cleaning the coffin, to burying it.

   It was such a sad spectacle. Buffy had expected there to be something else. She didn’t know what. Maybe she half expected a slayer to come and sit down, watching and waiting for the vampire to arise from the fresh grave. But there wasn’t anything more. There was just Xander, neatening up the edges of the grave, and patting down the dirt. And it was over. There was just nothing after that. A freshly filled grave and stillness.

   Buffy looked up from the window to find William there, standing in the middle of the room, watching her. Buffy wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Sorry,” she said. “Anne... said they were calling me.”

    “No one attended my funeral,” William said quietly.

   “What?”

   William pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her. Buffy took it gratefully, and wiped her eyes and nose. “My funeral,” he said. “I was left murdered in an alley by a livery stable with no identification. I watched myself buried by strangers in a potters field, my mother sick with worry. And all alone.”

   Anne reached up and took his hand. “No longer, William. All is well, now.”

   “I didn’t want you left alone, Mother,” William said.

   “I wasn’t for long.” Anne smiled at him.

   “That wasn’t what I meant.”

   “But that is what happened,” Anne said with a serene smile. “But all that is past, now.” She turned again to Buffy. “Would you care for some refreshment? We can discuss much less unpleasant topics. Let us discuss subjects of art and beauty. I understand your mother is something in the art world?” Anne asked. “Tell me of yourself.” And she offered Buffy the plate of William’s painstakingly made cucumber sandwiches.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

   “So, how are you settling in?” William asked.

   “It’s all right, so far.”  Buffy had no idea how long she’d been here in... not hell. It seemed a month or two on Earth, but it was hard to tell. A lot of what she saw on Earth seemed to come to her out of order. She didn’t seem to get anything from the future, but there were times she’d get a call and witness a scene, and it was sort of from the past, like a few days before the last thing she’d seen. It was kind of weird. “Is it wrong that I spend a lot of time in front of the television?”

   “Many people look down on earth a great deal when they’re new to this place,” William said.

   “Did you?”

   William swallowed. “No, not really. There... was little I wished to see. And...” He stopped.

   “And what?”

   “I was busy.”

   “Busy?” Buffy looked around. There was never anything to do here. Not that it was boring – far from it. It wasn’t exciting, but she never got bored. It seemed as if every time she started to get bored, time just went away, and it was time to do something else. Have something to eat, or check in on her friends, or listen to messages from Dawn or Xander, or head down to the gallery with Joyce. And William was there. William was there a lot. All Buffy had to do was think about him – and sometimes just to think about Spike – and William would knock on the door, or be there in the room, or she would be there with him.

   Which was why he was here with her at her remembered image of The Bronze. She’d sat down at the table by the stairs, remembered asking Spike about how he’d been turned, and there was William, unturned and himself, walking in with raised eyebrows at the spectacle of the place.

   “I mean, somehow we can’t get bored here, but... there’s nothing that has to be done, really. What the hell could you possibly have been busy  _ with _ ?” Buffy asked.

   William hesitated. “I was being called to a great many arrivals then. Sometimes several dozen at any given time.”

   Buffy swallowed, ashamed of herself. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”

   William smiled. “I’d forget myself if I could.”

   Buffy didn’t doubt it.

   “Hm.” She stirred the ice in her drink idly. “Well, it’s not like I exactly miss my old life,” she said. “I’m really, like... ridiculously happy here. It’s kinda creepy, actually. But I worry about them all, you know?”

   “Yes,” William said. “Are they all well? Handling your loss, I presume.”

   “Yeah. Some of them far too well.”

   He smirked. There was a bit of Spike in the grin. “Do I sense a tone of bitterness?”

   Buffy rolled her eyes. “Well, Xander and Anya are at it like bunnies – God, Anya would hate that I used that expression. I think they’re reaching for life or something. I keep getting interference when I look in on them, and I think that means they’re in bed.” William cleared his throat, uncomfortable with discussions about sex, but Buffy always ignored that. He was Spike, dammit. Or he could be. And she was going to talk to him like a young man, not like some old fuddy like Giles, no matter how long ago he had died. “And Willow’s like... diving into her magic books like there’s no tomorrow. Giles is really sad. He cries a lot while he’s playing the guitar, and stares into space like he’s lost or something.” She sighed. “Dawn’s... not coping well.”

   “Dawn is your sister?”

   “Yeah. She seems to have gotten closest with Tara, but... I don’t know. She cries a lot, and she’s constantly demanding hugs, and then she’ll go into screaming fits, and she’ll fight with them over things like going to school or what she’s going to wear.”

   “Is she always like this?”

   “Well... not when Spike’s around,” she admitted.

   “Fear of him keeps her in line, then.”

   “It’s not fear,” Buffy said. She had a really hard time convincing William that Spike wasn’t the evil monster he... used to be. Not when it came to Dawn and Buffy. Spike was coming through as a godsend, she knew he was. He was the most efficient one at taking over Buffy’s patrols. And when he came to watch over Dawn, she was... real. She seemed human again. Granted, she kept testing him to see if he’d leave – which Buffy always watched with bewilderment – and he never did.

   It tore her in two to see them crying together over her. They never told the others. They never spoke about it themselves. They’d be alone, and one would start to cry, or the other, and they’d put their arms around each other and weep. It was beautiful, and frightening. The demonic vampire and the interdimensional key, both of them so eaten up over Buffy they could only find solace with each other. Buffy tried to comfort them, tell them she was all right. They couldn’t seem to hear her when they cried.

   “Anyway, she’s started stealing things,” she continued. “I’ll call to her to put that back, but... she never seems to hear me. I’ve started calling out to sales clerks, kinda hoping they’ll catch her and put a stop to this before it gets out of hand. She’s had some close calls. I don’t know.” She sighed. “She’s not gonna be able to fill the hole I left with  _ things. _ ”

   “And none of those friends of yours sparked the resentment I just heard,” William pressed.

   “Oh. Well...” Buffy felt uncomfortable, but William really was her closest friend in this place, and for all Riley kept insisting she never shared anything, she always felt better when she could bounce her emotions off someone else. Willow had traditionally taken that role, or Xander. Here, there was only William. “There’s this guy I used to date....” Buffy stopped herself from saying it was Angel. William had a distinct aversion for any mention of vampires, and he had expressed distaste for “Liam.” “Anyway, I thought he really loved me. That I really loved him... and I looked down like a day or so after I got up here, and I saw my friend Willow talking to him. Telling him the news. And... he didn’t even shed a tear.”

   Actually, the whole exchange had disturbed Buffy heartily. Angel sat and listened to Willow’s story, about Dawn the key and the god Glory, and Buffy jumping through the gates of hell. And he didn’t cry. He stood up and brooded. “I should have been there,” he said, his face to the wall, his hand on some knickknack on a shelf.

   “Yeah, well, you weren’t, Angel,” Buffy had said to the television. “I tried to call you when I learned about Glory. I got your machine.”

   He continued to muse, unhearing. “I should have stayed in Sunnydale.”

   “I told you to,” Buffy told him pointedly. Angel didn’t seem able to hear her at all. “Mom’s funeral? Remember? You could have stayed to help.” 

   Instead he’d kissed her, charging her with lust and love and wistfulness, and then run away again, leaving her to face all that grief on her own. And she hadn’t really had any time, what with Dawn and Glory and the damn monks. And newly missing Angel again on top of it. If he’d stayed it might have done something for her, but as it was... his brief visit hadn’t helped. It got her through one night, and that was it. In the long run it had actually made things worse.

   Her annoyance at that memory had surprised her. Usually it took a lot for her to express her deep annoyance with Angel and their star-crossed love. Usually it hurt too much to do more than think of him and wince with the pain, which made her want to be still and wistful. But now there was no pain about it all, and irritation kept rising as she watched him.

   “I’m sorry, Angel,” Willow had said. “I thought I should tell you in person.”

   Angel was silent for a long moment. “She’s buried in Sunnydale now?”

   “I didn’t want to wait,” Willow said. “I tried to call you, before the ceremony, but I didn’t want to leave a message for... something like this. It wasn’t like we were going to embalm her or anything, it...”

   “There was limited time.”

   “Yeah. Do you want to know where the grave is?”

   “No,” Angel said. “If I go, I’ll find it.”

   Buffy read the subtext of that. “You’re not even going to visit my grave?”

   He turned back to Willow. “Thank you for telling me.”

   He made his goodbyes. Willow went downstairs to talk with Cordelia, and Angel gazed out the window for a bit. Then he poured himself a drink and went to bed. That was it. No tears. A couple of heavy sighs, but he wasn’t doing anything. Buffy had turned off the television. 

   “Not one tear,” she told William. “For my  _ death. _ ”

   William looked sympathetic. “Perhaps the wound was too deep for tears.”

   “I don’t think so,” Buffy said. “He was crying just fine at our last Christmas when he wanted to commit suicide ‘cause he was afraid he’d rape me.”

   William looked shocked. “This was a man you loved?”

   Buffy grunted. “It’s complicated,” she said. “Of course, I was actually fine that Christmas. He  _ didn’t  _ let himself rape me, so maybe he was just crying for himself.”

   She realized what she’d just said. Lies even to herself seemed to come out as ugly truths here. “Ugh!” She rubbed at her face. “I never, ever would have had these thoughts when I was still alive,” she said. “I mean, he was like my  _ world! _ I trusted him, and I forgave him, and I always gave him the benefit of the doubt, and believed the best of him. I loved him more than even made  _ sense, _ and now I look down on him, and I just... it’s not there, you know? I still love my friends and my sister and my watcher. But my boyfriend?” She shook her head. “I mean, I know we haven’t really been part of each other’s lives for a while now, and really even when we were it was kinda... dramatic. In the worst sense. But you’d think I’d still  _ feel _ the same way, wouldn’t you?”

   “It’s understandable,” William said. “We’re laden down with bodies and desires and adrenal glands when we’re alive. Things can be seen more clearly here, I’ve found. You can tend to see your life as a whole, and things that mattered a great deal... loves that seemed to mean the world... they’re nothing, really.”

   “Did that happen to you?”

   “Well.” William chuckled. “Did... uh... he tell you much of me?”

   “A bit. Let me see if I remember this. He told me about you right here in this spot, actually. I asked if he’d always been such a pain in the ass, and he said,  _ What can I tell you, baby? I’ve always been bad. _ ” Buffy had deepened her voice and tried to do her best Spike impersonation.

   William looked embarrassed. “He doesn’t really sound like that, does he?”

   Buffy nodded with a teasing grin. “Then he said,  _ Was a poet, actually. A bloody horrible one. _ And I think I laughed, because... look, you have no idea the insanity it is to think of Spike as... well,  _ you. _ I’m not sure I even believed him, but I let him talk, anyway. And then he started describing you... it was not flattering.”

   “I would imagine not.”

   “How did he describe you...” Buffy giggled. That was it. “ _ A poncey little git who’d have his head up his own arse if it wasn’t in the clouds. _ ”

   William looked away, a slightly amused annoyance on his face. “Right.”

   “I believe the words,  _ sniveling, wanker, _ and  _ nancy-boy, _ also made an appearance that night. And  _ high-society toff. _ ”

   “Good to see he still has a broad vocabulary,” William said, and Buffy laughed. “Yes, very droll.”

   “Well, I don’t know,” Buffy said, her laughter dying. She hadn’t really considered it before she’d seen William’s embarrassed face. “‘Cause at the time I was just pissed off at him – he could be very annoying – but... now that I think about it... that’s all kind of sad. ‘Cause he was hating on  _ himself _ , in a way.”

   William gazed at her. “You actually feel sympathy for this creature.”

   But Buffy wasn’t hearing his words. “Do  _ you _ hate yourself?”

   William looked taken aback. “Pardon?”

   “William... do you like yourself?”

   William’s face closed, but not unkindly. “Modesty is a virtue, Miss Summers,” he said evenly. “In any case, it is true; my opinions and feelings for a great many things changed when I was no longer bound to the mortal coil, as it were.”

   “Like for Cecilia?” Buffy asked.

   William blinked twice, and then corrected her. “Cecily,” he said. “Yes. I believed I was in love with a woman I... frankly barely knew. When no longer shackled by desires of the flesh, my feeling for her faded dramatically.”

   “And what about her?” Buffy knew Spike had been, as he put it,  _ thrown over by this prissy little bint _ , but she didn’t know if William still knew her. “Did you two ever make amends? Like, up here, or something?”

   William chuckled. “Reunited in heaven, with all misunderstandings abolished? No. Nothing so mawkishly redolent of a chapbook romance. Cecily told me I was nothing to her, and she was correct. I was never even called to her arrival.” He sighed. “Of course, that must mean she died from some more natural cause. I suppose I was fortunate he did not take it into his head to seek revenge upon her for the part she played in my murder.”

   “What?”

   William looked sad. “If I had not been... dismayed at her rebuff, I should never have wandered off alone. Never been in a position to be caught by a demoness outside a livery stable.” He trembled, Buffy noticed. His murder was probably more disturbing to him than he wanted to admit.

   “Spike called Cecily a  _ piece of tail _ ,” Buffy said, hoping to distract him.

   That did make William laugh. “She was fond of the bustle.”

   “I never understood the Victorian fixation on having a big ass.”

   “Well, the chairs were often hard,” William noted. “They made for a convenient cushion for the women, I’m sure.”

   “Not sure it’s worth it for fashion nightmare.”

   “Well, the revealing things you wear in your era. Perhaps you’d enjoy having a pillow ready strapped on.” He tilted his head. “It would look interesting on you. Must have something to soften your edges, slayer.”

   Spike always called her slayer. Buffy winced, suddenly. “I don’t need hard edges anymore,” she said. She missed going on patrol, of all things. She wondered if that was why she kept watching Spike and the Scoobies when they went out to slay for her. “Which is why it bugs me that I got so annoyed with An– my ex. Feeling pissed off just feels wrong, here. I haven’t even looked at him since.”

   William shrugged. “Different people mean different things,” he said. “I never bothered to look back on Cecily.”

   “Well, couldn’t you find her now?”

   “Well, it has been a century, I’m sure she has passed over. But no. I know where everyone I care about is. This leaves you... and Mother.” He stopped. “And Drusilla,” he added. “Cecily is not among them.”

   “Don’t have a lot of friends?”

   “Never did,” William said. “And I haven’t made many here. The demon-cursed are... pitied. Or despised,” he added.

   “I guess I can see that,” Buffy said. “Though, not really fair. I mean, you were a victim, first.”

   “I’m not sure everyone sees it that way. Those killed by the demon... tend to want to see the demon in us.”

   “Yeah. Kendra was a little like that,” Buffy said.

   “That is that other slayer you mentioned?”

   “Yeah,” Buffy said. “I went to see her the other day, ‘cause she didn’t hang out at my arrival. She was always a bit of a loner, I guess. I think she’s already fading, like your mom kinda wants to. There doesn’t seem to be much keeping her here.”

   “I’m sure there isn’t,” William said. “Friends and family, they are the bonds we have to earth. If you have few or none of them, there is little to keep you here.”

   “Yeah....” Buffy regarded him. Whether there was anything to keep him here or not, he was stuck here. “She knew you. Or... knew Spike, you know. Before the chip tamed him down a lot. They fought once.”

   “I don’t recall... did he...?”

   “No,” Buffy said, “he didn’t kill her.”

   William closed his eyes in relief.

   “That was... Dru,” Buffy said. “Kendra said it was a thrall. She didn’t even get to go out fighting.” She had seemed kind of bitter about that, actually. “Anyway, she couldn’t understand why I’m hanging out with you.”

   “I’m afraid I haven’t put my finger on that, either. Care to enlighten both of us?”

   Buffy chuckled. “I don’t know,” she said. “You’re different. I guess I find you kind of interesting.”

   William looked away with an odd expression on his face.

   “What?”

   “I’m afraid you might well be the first of that opinion,” he said modestly.

   “Have you been lonely?”

   William hesitated. “Difficult to say,” he said. “I believe I do not perceive loneliness, as you claim you do not perceive boredom. If I should start to feel lonely... time goes away, as it would with boredom. But... I am often alone.”

   “You should come and hang out with me, more,” Buffy said. “It’s a blast seeing my family again. I get to play dominos with Poppie – oh, that’s my grandpa – and I went birdwatching at the coast with Gammie, and I play dolls with Celia – hey, tell me, is it weird that it doesn’t seem to matter that I’m not a kid anymore? I come down to see Celia, and I might as well be. It’s like dolls and Power Girl games are fun again, when I found it boring by, like, thirteen.”

   “Celia hasn’t changed since her death,” William said. “The child you were is still in you. I believe I met your grandmother at your arrival, yes? Did she look like anyone’s grandmother?”

   “No,” Buffy said. “Yeah, I suppose she did look like in her thirties. How come?”

   “That’s how she perceives herself,” William said. “That’s the form she manifests.”

   Buffy looked at him. “So you can perceive yourself how you want?”

   “Indeed. Any flaws can go away, any illness can be abolished, any deformity... if you had lost a limb, it would be back if that was how you envisioned your own soul. You see yourself as you wish to be.”

   “Any flaw?” Buffy asked.

   William nodded.

   “In that case,” Buffy reached forward and snatched the fussy glasses off William’s nose. “You don’t need these.”

   “I–”

   “There,” she said. She threw the glasses behind her into the mist at the edge of the Bronze. “Now I can see your eyes.”

   William looked bemused. “Have something against men who wear glasses?”

   “No. Just some of ‘em. Giles looks better with his. You look constipated or something.”

   William looked marginally annoyed. “Between you and that demon, I’ve had quite enough of insults this evening.”

   “I’m not insulting you. Just playing fashion police. Believe me, I know exactly how hot that face of yours can look. You’re not doing those blue eyes any favors behind those specs.”

   “What? And you’d prefer me in black leather with white hair and army boots?”

   “There’s a reason he wears it,” Buffy pointed out. “He knows how it looks, too.”

   William gazed at her earnestly. “I’m not him.”

   In some ways, Buffy kind of wished he was. Spike was more fun, wormwood truth of the matter. She could at least hit him when he pissed her off, or she needed a release or something. And Buffy missed her friends – even Spike, to her annoyance. “You could be.”

   “I’d rather die. Oh, right. Did.”

   He sounded incredibly bitter, but he also sounded a lot like Spike, and Buffy grinned. An idea had struck her. “Stand up.”

   “What?”

   “Stand up. With me.” She was dead. So was he. With no evil, no excuses, no irritated denial in the way, it had suddenly occurred to her that there was something she’d always wanted to do with Spike. “Come on, William," she said, holding her hand out challengingly. "You know you wanna dance."

   “Excuse me?” Flustered did not begin to describe the man who sat at the table before her. Buffy reached out and took his hands, dragging him out to the dance floor. “Women were not permitted to ask the men in my day...”

   “Your days are over. Dance,” she said. Her memory of the Bronze was playing something from Dingoes Ate My Baby, with a firm bassline and a sultry rhythm. The lyrics were half whispered groans of love. Buffy stepped back and moved her hips with the music. William was stiff as a poker and stared at her with his lips partially open. “You’re not moving,” she said after a bit.

   “I don’t know this music...”

   “It’s just music. You just move with it.”

   “I don’t know how.”

   “William! You can make that body move like a panther,” Buffy said. “I know you can, I’ve seen it.”

   “You mean you’ve seen  _ him _ . I wish you wouldn’t keep confusing us.”

   “I’m just asking you to dance.”

   “I don’t know the steps.”

   Buffy raised her arms. “There are no steps.”

   “There always were in my day.”

   “This  _ is _ your day.” Buffy frowned at him. “What is this? You’ve been up here all this time, and you’re still stuck in the 18th century?”

   “19th,” William corrected her.

   “Whatever!” Buffy rolled her eyes. “Besides, I’ll bet your servants or whatever would just jump up and down if they ever got a chance to hear music, and to hell with knowing the steps.”

   William shook his head. “I was never... in such society.”

   Buffy sighed. “You can’t even bring yourself to move to music. God, I never thought I’d miss Spike’s penchant for the stupid Sex Pistols.”

   “The what?”

   “It’s a band. You should look them up or something.”

   “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

   That annoyed her. “You’ve been at the arrivals of everyone he’s ever killed, and you somehow missed all the punks he took out?”

   “His victims did change over the years. I did not.”

   “So, what, you’re always gonna be nothing but a Victorian gentleman?” Buffy glared at him.  “You’ve got a whole world you can look down on and learn about, and you’re still in that outfit, reading the same damn books, mooning over the same damn stuff. Haven’t you learned anything?”

   “Buffy,” he said. “You’re very new. You feel very alive, because you remember being alive very clearly. But we’re not.”

   “So you can’t go watch a Sex Pistols concert, because William bloody Pratt from 1880 whatever would never have heard of them.”

   “They sound vulgar.”

   “I think that was the point,” Buffy said. “When you were still mooning over Cecily... did you never write any poems that sounded vulgar? Was it all moonlight and roses, or did you never think about what it would be like to  _ be with  _ her.”

   “All the time. But I didn’t really know her.”

   “That’s not the point! It’s not about her, it’s about  _ you _ .” Buffy reached up and touched his face. His eyes closed, but he pulled away anyway.

   “Don’t, my pet,” he said gently. “You’ll only be disappointed.”

   Buffy hadn’t been called “pet” in a long time. It felt good. And at least it wasn’t Miss Summers. William was feeling more comfortable around her; she was glad. “Don’t what?”

   “Whatever it is you’re trying here.”

   “What do you think I’m trying?”

   “I think you know.” He was very earnest and his expression was very soft as he said, “I spend time with you because you are interesting to me. And you’re likely right. This soul is most likely quite lonely. But like you no longer hunger for this man you were just speaking of... we don’t have those charged impulses for the satisfaction of the flesh.”

   Buffy wasn’t sure she was following. “What do you mean?”

   “To be blunt... well... as a rule, we don’t really.”

   “Don’t...?”

   “Don’t.” They both knew what they were talking about. Why did he find it so hard to actually say?

   “You’re saying souls don’t have sex.”

   William blushed. “No.”

   “And you never break the rules?”

   William looked lost for a moment. “Well... no,” he said. “But it’s more complex than that. There’s no one telling us we couldn’t, really. It’s just... we don’t.”

   There was something he wasn’t telling her. “Why not?”

   William shrugged. “Most of us aren’t as physical as you, pet. You’re very young. Everything’s still so solid and real for you. But it’s not as if we need  _ sex _ , as you so amusingly call it. There’s no bodies to feed, no children to breed. The idea of all that rough seeking of pleasure is... it’s beneath us, after a time.”

   “Yeah, but it’s  _ fun. _ ”

   “Not for us.” He actually looked a little wistful.

   “That’s sad,” Buffy said. “I mean... to share something, to enjoy... what the other can give to you, do for you. I can’t imagine not experiencing that, ever again.”

   “We experience other things. Besides, you don’t need it. And it sounds messy.”

   “Well, I used to think that, too, until I was getting some on a regular basis,” Buffy said. “It’s worth the mess.” Buffy finally caught up. “What do you mean, _ sounds? _ ”

   “Well, I... I’ve never experienced such a thing myself,” William said with a small smile. “One of the many thousands of things I never got to do with the body that was stolen from me.”

   “You never...?” Logically she should have realized this, but, the truth of the matter hadn’t hit her before. William was a virgin!

   “Never,” he said, somewhat ruefully. “Never even kissed a girl, no less.”

   Buffy stared at him. “You’ve never even  _ kissed? _ ”

   “‘Fraid not,” William said. “I had no fiancée, let alone a wife. I’d barely taken a girl’s arm.”

   “That’s a damn shame,” Buffy said frankly. “You’re a really good kisser.”

   William raised his eyebrows. “Am I indeed?” he asked. “And you know this...?”

   “Um...” Buffy stopped.

   William closed his eyes and looked ill. “Please tell me this isn’t as bad as it sounds.”

   It was, though not with Spike. Angel was the vampire she’d been kissing voluntarily. Well, apart from that once with Spike after the robot....“Not quite as bad. It was a spell. Willow’s a witch, and she said we should get married, and it stuck for a bit.”

   “For how long?”

   “About eight hours,” Buffy said. “It was... heady.”

   William only gazed at her, until Buffy felt uncomfortable. “What?”

   He hesitated. “I believe I might well envy him that.”

   Buffy regarded him for a moment. Then she found herself very close to him, without really deciding to move. She leaned in toward his face. He blinked, and then realized what she was trying to do. “We don’t, pet. We really don’t.”

   “Have you ever tried?”

   William smiled at her, and then pushed forward, brushing his lips against hers. Buffy took advantage of the chance and kissed him properly... and then she saw why they didn’t. It was nothing. There was no physical fire, no hormonal rush to her metaphysical groin. She’d felt more from touching his hand than from the kiss. Buffy gave up and looked at him. “Damn,” she said. “That’s really lame.”

   William chuckled and lightly touched her face. She could barely feel that, either. “Is this only residual mortal lust?” he asked. He looked very fond, and very serious. “Or are you really trying to connect to me?”

   “I-I don’t know,” she finally said. She didn’t know what she was doing. She felt very drawn to William, but she had no ultimate plan. The look on his face led her to believe that what they were discussing was not casual to him.

   “When you look at me... who is it you see? Are you seeing me? Or him?”

   Buffy frowned and pulled back. “Him, I think,” she admitted.

   William nodded. “I feared as much.” He looked away, up at the grouped light fixtures of the Bronze, as if he was trying to figure out how they worked. Or couldn’t bear to meet her eyes.

   “But you’re in him, you know.”

   “I’m demonstrably not,” he said, gently indicating his metaphysical form.

   “No, but... you are. It’s something your mom said. There’s a lot of you in him. I... I don’t think I always recognized it, but a lot of him is human. And I liked that in him. I mean, I hated him, he confused me, and he drove me crazy. But he really could be very noble, sometimes. You left a lot of yourself behind in there.”

   “The idea of that is as horrifying as you mean it kindly.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “To be myself, trapped in that life? A fate a thousand times worse than death. No, he must be nothing like me.”

   Buffy thought about this. “If he was nothing like you, my sister would be dead,” she said. “And the world would have been eaten by Acathla.”

   “You think that was me?”

   “Well... it wasn’t demony. So it must be humany. I’m glad you echo in him, still.”

   “But don’t you see, my pet? It would be constant torture, to him. I can’t believe it. I won’t, it’s too cruel to think on.” He shook his head. “He had other, more selfish motives when he did those things you think of as virtuous. He must have.”

   “There’s always more than one motive for anything anyone does,” Buffy said. “I guess you have to judge based on actions. He was a terrible creature, but... he’s been doing a lot of good lately. Even little things, like some of the stuff he’ll say to Dawn. I don’t know. Sometimes I even think if he wasn’t....” She stopped.

   “What if he wasn’t?” William asked. Neither of them wanted to say,  _ If he wasn’t a vampire. _ “Would you have been... attracted to him?”

   Buffy thought about this. “No,” she finally said. Buffy looked at William gently and sighed. “If he wasn’t, I’d have broken him,” she admitted.

   That was not what William had expected her to say. “Broken him?”

   She shrugged. “If he wasn’t what he was, I couldn’t have looked at him twice, really.”

   “Couldn’t?”

   “Yeah. If he wasn’t a vampire... well, he’d be you.”

   “Is that so terrible?”

   “Not for you, maybe, but...” Buffy looked down. “I was a slayer, William. We’re strong, and... my temper was... short. And I had to go hunting vampires, pretty regularly, or I’d start to go crazy anxious. I had a boyfriend once, Riley, and he couldn’t take me being a slayer. It like... it broke him. It did. He started doing crazy stuff to try and make things... even or something. Things that could have gotten him killed, like not going to the doctor and... well, even dumber things. I had friends, you know, just friends, and even they were pretty weirded out by me sometimes. And they were witches and ex-demons and stuff. And you... you’re....” She gestured at him helplessly. “If I couldn’t make it with Riley... I mean, he was a soldier.” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

   William stared at her. “Are you seriously telling me that you prefer the demon to the man?”

   “No. I don’t like evil killing and grr, but....”

   “But?” He looked so wounded.

   “God, I’m not saying this to hurt you, William.”

   “But what?” he pressed.

   “But... well, you’re not the man you could be.”

   His head cocked, insulted. “Excuse me?”

   “William, look at you.” She came up and poked at his back and shoulders. “You’re rigid as a post. I don’t know what Victorian England did to you, but it looks as if you’ve been bound by a straitjacket! I can barely hear you when you speak, you stand like you’re expecting someone to dump water on you or something, you jump from prim arrogance to – what’s that word you used before? –  _ mawkish _ modesty, and you’re  _ willfully _ weak as the proverbial kitten.”

   “Well. I apologize for not being born with the strength of a demon.”

   “I don’t mean your muscles. I mean your  _ self _ ,” Buffy said. “People insult people, the world’s a harsh place, and you seem incapable of brushing any of it off. Rather than earning your scars and making yourself stronger, you just hang your head and cower in your mother’s parlor, apparently learning nothing.”

   Anger flashed over him. “Would you rather I bashed anyone who irritated me in the face?”

   “That’s what he does.”

   “I’m not him!”

   “And that’s why he hates you.”

   “What?”

   “The way he described you,” Buffy said. “Why he can’t stand the memory of you. William, you have so much potential. It’s there, it’s part of you, it always was. I’m looking _ right at it _ . And you’re always shunting it away, I can see you doing it.”

   “I’m a dead spirit, Buffy. How much do you expect me to change?”

   “As much as you want to,” Buffy countered. “Truth is, if I didn’t know him, I’d find you a total wet blanket.”

   William regarded her. “So you’d rather I was a monster.”

   “No,” Buffy said. “I’d rather you were  _ yourself _ .”

   “I  _ am  _ myself.”

   “Oh?” She went up to him. “When was the last time you unleashed it?”

   “What?”

   “When was the last time you let go? Stopped worrying about what everyone would think about you and just...  _ was? _ ”

   “What exactly do you expect of me?” he demanded.

   “For god’s sake, William, _ just dance!” _

 


	5. Chapter 5

  
  


   “I hope I’m doing the right thing.”

   Buffy took her finger off the answering machine and pondered. Most of the messages that came through were Dawn or her friends, saying things like, “I wish you could see this sunset...” or “You’d be so proud of Dawn if you saw that test grade. She worked so hard!” Or even just, “I miss you.” After receiving them Buffy would go and turn on the television, and then she’d watch the sunset with Xander, or smile at Dawn’s achievement with Tara. The messages were usually about something her friends wanted her to share with them. (Apart from Spike’s messages... which Buffy often had to skip over.) This time the message was from Willow, and it told her absolutely nothing.

   Buffy frowned. It seemed wrong, somehow. Something seemed off. Buffy went to the television. “Willow,” she said. “What’s going on?”

   The image took a long time to appear. When it did, it didn’t seem to be anything special. It was some kind of Scooby meeting. It had clearly been going on a while, because there was an open pizza box with only two slices left, and a half eaten plate of nachos. Willow was sitting on the edge of Xander’s couch. Anya, Xander and Tara were all there, looking at her expectantly. “So. We’re all in agreement?” Willow asked.

   “I guess so,” Xander said. “But it still seems risky.”

   Willow shook her head. “Tara and I looked it up. If we can find an Urn of Osiris, the whole thing should go off exactly as planned.”

   “You haven’t said how I’m supposed to  _ find _ this thing,” Anya said. “I mean, my contacts in the demon realms really aren’t what they once were.”

   “I have faith in you,” Willow said. “I’m sure you can find one. You have to. The whole thing centers on it.” She looked very intense, and Tara took her hand.

   “It’s okay,” Tara told Willow. She looked back at Anya. “Willow and I have already discussed this,” Tara said. “It’s too risky to try it without the urn. Osiris is too volatile a force. If you can’t find the urn, we’re going to have to give up on this.”

   “My divinations say you can find one, Anya. Every tarot reading or rune spread I throw, they all say you can find one.”

   “Oh, because I need to follow orders from a pack of cards?” Anya snapped. “And what’s with you, red queen. Off with her head!”

   “Anya, I don’t think that’s what Willow meant,” Xander said. “Could you just... look?”

   “It’s fine, I already  _ said _ I’d try,” Anya said, looking defensive.

   “Good,” Willow said. “It’s very important, Anya. I can’t have it all fall down because of you.”

   Xander came up to Willow and took her hand. “Look, you know... I miss her too. I’ll do whatever it takes to help, but... you sure you’re not putting yourself in any danger?”

   “For the last time, I know what I’m doing, Xander,” Willow said. Buffy realized her friend sounded hoarse. They’d been at this conversation a long time. “Believe me. I won’t get in over my head.” Willow took her hand back and walked into the kitchen area, looking flustered. It was as if she didn’t want Xander to talk about it anymore.

   Anya frowned and came after her. She grabbed Willow’s arm. “It’s all well and good my finding an Urn of Osiris, but it won’t do anybody any good unless you have something to  _ put _ in it,” Anya said in a low voice. “Have you told them what you’re going to have to do? We’re gonna have to dig–”

   “We don’t have to,” Willow said.

   “I don’t see how not. It’s under the earth, where it’s supposed to be.”

   “I have everything I need,” Willow said more firmly.

   “Blood, bone, hair, flesh....”

   “I’ve got it, okay? Keep your voice down.”

   Anya tilted her head back. “You...? I can see blood, clothes from the fight, but the rest? What’d you do, rip off a toe or something?” A second later she raised her eyebrows. “You did, didn’t you. You’ve had this planned since the first day, haven’t you.”

   Willow glared. “Yes,” she said. “Now keep your mouth shut, and don’t tell Tara.”

   “Tell her what? That you offered to take care of it so that you could go pecking away like some ghoul on the c–”

   “Quiet!” Willow hissed.

   “How are my two favorite girls doing in there?” Xander called from the couch.

   “We’re fine!” Willow called out. She grabbed a bag of pretzels from the counter and carried them back into the living area. “Here.”

   Anya stood scowling in the kitchen for a moment more, her arms folded in front of her, tapping her foot. Finally she went back to the others.

   “Now,” Xander said. “That out of the way. Are we still on for patrol on Saturday?”

   “I thought Spike was handling that,” Anya said.

   “No, he’s out patrolling tonight, as soon as we get back to Dawn,” Tara said. “Saturday there are five funerals planned, at least two of them likely sirings....”

   The rest of the conversation continued like a normal Scooby meeting, and Buffy wasn’t sure exactly what they’d been talking about. That cryptic message had sounded urgent, and yet Willow wasn’t acting as if she were in the throes of grief. She never had, actually. Buffy had gotten almost no messages from Willow the entire time she was up here. She’d witnessed Spike digging her grave, but not Willow washing her body. You’d think Willow would have been trying to talk to her big time then, but... no.

_ Pecking away like some ghoul. _

   “Are you all right, Buffy?”

   William had a tendency to show up when she was worried about something back on Earth. She was glad of it. He was a comforting presence, and she hadn’t seen him since he left her memory of the Bronze that night. He’d just turned and gone, (without dancing) and while Buffy knew she could follow him... she’d thought he’d rather have been alone. She didn’t know if arguments were common in heaven, or if it was just  _ her _ who couldn’t keep any kind of relationship, even a platonic one, without conflict.

   Or maybe it was because it was William, and she was Buffy. She’d never been able to stop sparring with Spike, either.

   “I don’t know,” she said. “I wish there was some way to rewind and show you what I just saw.”

   “Rewind?”

   “Play it over.” Buffy looked down at the remote in her hand, and experimentally pressed the rewind button. The image on the tv screen flipped backwards, just like a video would. “Whoa.” She hadn’t expected it to work.

   William grinned at her. “Time doesn’t mean anything here. That’s why I prefer to look down in books – I can flip to any page I want.”

   “How did they call on you, then?” Buffy asked. Without an answering machine, she had no idea how she’d perceive messages from her friends.  “People on Earth, how did they get in touch?”

   “Calling cards,” William said. “On the front hall table. But I didn’t receive many messages. I wasn’t particularly popular within my social circle.” He paused. “Particularly not after he tortured and ate them all.”

   Every once in a while, William would drop these ugly bombshells as if it were just the pattern of his existence – which Buffy supposed it was, but... “He ate all your friends?”

   “I wouldn’t call them my friends,” William said. “But my social circle, yes. All but Cecily.” He shook his head. “None of my circle ever forgave me.”

   “But you weren’t the one who killed them.”

   William smiled, a little stiffly. “I was still the reason they were all dead.”

   “I’m sorry,” Buffy said. She looked up at him. “Um.... And I’m sorry about... um... before. I know you have reasons why you are the way you are. I shouldn’t have bugged you about it.” She sighed. “I guess I don’t make a very good angel.”

   “You’d make an excellent angel,” William said with a smile. “Such bravery and courage. God said, I bring not peace, I bring a sword.” He shook his head. “No, you belong here. Telling harsh truths is no sin.”

   “I was still kinda pushing you, and I’m sorry. I’m a slayer, I do that sort of thing. Not an excuse, but I can be a real bitch sometimes.”

   William sat down. Buffy realized he still wasn’t wearing his glasses. His blue eyes looked very bright. “You weren’t wrong,” he said. “I am... very rigid and isolated. I have not tried to learn more about the world I left. Not through its people. Not through anything.”

   “Why not?”

   William looked sad. “It was stolen from me,” he said. “My life was stolen. What I believed to be my love died in my breast. The world was no longer mine. When you had that man you claimed you loved... when it ended, did you want to gaze upon him and think about what you could no longer have?”

   “God, no. I wanted him the hell out of my life, already. It was too painful.”

   “And so it has been with me,” William said. “The world was my beloved. I loved it with all my soul. The sunsets, and the warmth of the fire, and sounds of birds, horses moving through the streets. Poetry and music and art and literature. The beauty of a fine woman, the nobility in a strong man, the innocence of its children. It was a wonderful place. I rarely felt worthy of its glories even before that demoness found me. I devoted my life to adding to the beauty of it, in my own small way.” He shrugged. “When my life was taken... I was placed in this soft exile while the world and the people in it were tortured and murdered by the demon who had stolen my life. I did not look to know more pain.”

   Buffy gazed up at him. “And your friends really thought your poetry sucked?” she asked. “That was beautiful.”

   William chuckled and looked away. “Well... I had been practicing what to say when I saw you again.”

   Buffy chuckled, and he did too. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Buffy shook her head. “I just... I really do think you could be so much more. Even without a demon, I mean. Spike says he only felt alive after he’d been killed. He was finally free of society’s rules. And, yeah, some of those rules... killing, murder, bad scene. But... god, William. You never even kissed a girl.” The very thought made her want to run up and hug him, and she knew it wouldn’t have the same sexual effect as it could have, and he was never going to get that. Ever. “I don’t see why you have to hold so tight to the rules of propriety when they’re not even rules up here. I mean, times have changed, for one. For another, there’s so many people from so many cultures around here. There’s nudists, for crying out loud, and you’d move so much better in just jeans and a T, and you’re still in that stiff starched shirt. I just... I wanna see who you are in there... and I think Spike was right. I think you never learned how to be  _ you _ . Not until... well  _ you _ were out of the way.”

   William shook his head. “I have to stay as I am,” he said. “I can’t indulge that sort of thought.”

   Buffy was confused now. “What sort of thought?”

   “Wanting more. Until your Spike is dust, I am... basically imprisoned here. It was through my own folly that he was born.” He shook his head. “No. No dreaming, no wanting. It only leads to evil.”

   Buffy was finally starting to get it. “Is that what you think?” she asked. She got up off the floor and went to him, sitting very close. “William, do you think Spike is your fault?”

   “Well he is, is he not?” he said. “My weakness, my folly, my shortcomings coming to roost. A century of death. That is what comes of wanting more than propriety dictates. That is what comes of allowing yourself to be seduced by some ethereal trull in a back alley, like in the most sordid of chapbook romances. It wasn’t a chapbook romance. It was a gothic horror.”

   “Yeah, but that wasn’t your fault,” Buffy said.

   “Can you not understand?” William asked. “No. Perhaps you do not know my shame.”

   “What shame?”

   “I....” William looked away. “I can’t.”

   “William.”

   It was just his name, but she said it so gently he seemed to soften. “I agreed.”

   “Yeah, I know.”

   William looked up at her, and then shook his head. “You don’t understand.” He swallowed. “When Drusilla found me she was... unearthly. Beautiful. I knew... I knew she was not of my world. She asked if I wanted it, and I... god help me, I said yes, Buffy. I did.” He looked almost in tears, though his voice was very even. “I said I wanted it.”

   “Yeah, I know that. Spike told me.”

   William looked bewildered. “Do you not see what that means, Buffy? I said yes. This means that every innocent he killed from that moment on is on me, heavy on my soul. They are  _ my  _ victims, victims of my moral failing.”

   “No they’re not,” Buffy said. “You really think that?”

   “It is truth,” he said quietly. “I cannot lie here, no more than you can.”

   “Yeah, you can’t lie, but you can still be  _ wrong _ . And you’re wrong, William. Spike’s crimes are not your fault.”

   “They are. I agreed, so they are all on my head.” He looked away from her. “Such a sin.... I do not see why I am here.”

   Buffy frowned at him. “What?”

   “All that murder.... I am not worthy of this place any more than I was worthy of Earth.”

   “Okay, now you’re just being stupid,” Buffy said, as if she were talking to Spike.

   “I beg your pardon?”

   “Oh, come on, William, Dru didn’t explain it in detail, I know she didn’t. Spike told me. She just said you wanted something effulgent, and held the mystery up as a shiny bauble. She didn’t say, ‘And every day you’re going to want to slaughter human beings and drink the blood of the innocent. You’re okay with that, right?’” She paused, but he didn’t respond. “Well, did she?”

   “No, but it was vanity. It was lust.”

   “And what’s wrong with a little lust?” Buffy asked. “Big fan of lust, on this end, and  _ I’m _ here. I’m no saint. Whoever makes the decisions in this place isn’t asking for saints, apparently. Jeeze, you yourself said Liam was here, and I don’t think he was a paragon of all virtues. And I knew Liam’s soul; I was mad in love with Angel; I sure as hell would have said he deserved to be here! Do you honestly think you should be barred from heaven because some monster lied to you and tried to corrupt you in a moment of weakness? I don’t think so!”

   William was staring at her. He stared at her blankly for so long that Buffy started to feel uncomfortable. “Um, Will–”

   “You loved him?”

   “Who...?” Buffy started, and then caught up with what she’d said.

   “Liam,” William said. “But... you... it wouldn’t have been....”

   “Will–”

   William pulled away from her. “I need a moment,” he said. He turned away and held his hands to his face. He was not crying, but he held his mouth and nose in a steeple and breathed deeply. Buffy rolled her eyes. Here it comes.  _ How can you do that. How could you love a monster. What kind of a monster does that make you? _ Riley had done the same damn thing.

   Finally William turned back to her. “And you could bring yourself to love such a creature of darkness?” He shook his head. “You’re wrong, Buffy.”

   “You don’t under–”

   “You _ are  _ a saint,” William finished.

   Buffy blinked, and felt so damned relieved to not be forced into this argument again that she laughed.

   William looked embarrassed and stepped back. “Forgive me, I–”

   “I’m really not a saint,” Buffy said, and she jumped forward and took William’s hands, pulling him toward her. “But what makes you say that?”

   William sat down with her. “Everyone here feels great sorrow for Liam,” he said. “To leave this place when you’re not ready to... all say it would feel like being pulled into hell. This place is like a womb, held close and safe and content, all needs met, all the love you ever felt in life surrounding you. Those who leave it are ready to leave. Complete, and ready to be reborn – or end. Or whatever they are heading towards. Liam was not prepared. He was ripped back to a life of death and violence. He’s a tragic figure here, and none think he will ever be permitted to return.”

   “You actually care about him? You sounded so scornful.”

   William rolled his eyes. “My feelings for Liam are complex at best. He was a libertine on earth, his virtues... limited, but there was a darkness already in him. I suspect his childhood was fraught with incidents which make some of his behavior on Earth explicable. I felt quite sorry for him in many ways. I doubt he knew love, not even that of family. We shared many arrivals for some years. Though he was the elder of us, I handled the realities of the circumstance far better than he. Drusilla, whose soul had been... damaged by the demon Angelus hung upon Liam, and he did not treat her well. I felt he should have taken some responsibility for her, but he did not. I quickly lost patience with him. But the thought of him on Earth has always filled me with pain.” William gazed at her. “You loved him? You loved him even within the demon? You could see him there?”

   “He... his soul... it made itself obvious,” Buffy said. “I think he was very lonely.”

   “And he turned to the slayer for solace...”

   “It wasn’t a good plan,” she said honestly. “Long story short, he betrayed me. And even after I’d forgiven him, then he ran away.”

   “This is that man you found you no longer loved? The one who did not shed a tear?”

   “Yeah,” Buffy said. “Though, it’s really more complicated. I do kind of love him, still. And even without the tears, I think he did love me. It’s just... it’s a lot harder to see him through rose colored glass, you know?”

   “Knowing Liam... yes, you’d probably have to forgive a lot of shortcomings to love him. Tainted by a demon, I’m sure there’d be even more.”

   “Yeah, he had... some pretty dark history.”

   “Even before the demon.”

   “What?”

   William shook his head. “If he did not share with you, I don’t feel it my place. But truly, it is a miracle that anyone was able to look through his darkness to see the man within.”

   “Yeah, but the man within wasn’t quite what I thought, and...” And there was more to it than that. She’d still loved Angel even without his soul. She knew she had – that was why she couldn’t just kill him when she’d first had the chance. Angel always said that the soul and the demon were very different people. But if William had managed to dislike Liam for the same reasons Spike disliked Angel... what differences were there? “It doesn’t even matter. You’re not disgusted by me?”

   “Not in the least,” William said. He leaned closer toward her, and put his hand on hers. “Love is never evil, Buffy. No matter who it is directed toward. Yes, there are those who may not be worthy of your love, and mistakes can be made  _ for _ love. But the love itself?” He shook his head. “If you find it in your heart to love and forgive despite someone’s unworthiness... no. It does not make you evil, or disgusting. It is most noble that you believed in his redemption.”

   “I don’t know,” Buffy said. She’d looked down on Angel again after her fight with William. Angel was off somewhere on vacation, practicing meditation or something. Professional level brooding. He hadn’t left her a single message. Most of the messages she got from her friends were very simple: I miss you. She’d never gotten even one from Angel. “I think his redemption might have been more important to him than I was. When he led me to believe the opposite.”

   William shrugged. “That doesn’t change how wonderful you are.”

   Buffy blushed.

   “What was it you wanted me to see?”

   “Oh... I’m not sure,” Buffy said. She reached for the remote. “Willow called me with this really cryptic message about doing the right thing, and then they were all just... talking. It was just a Scooby meeting.”

   “One of these days I’m going to have to ask you what ‘scooby’ means.”

   Buffy opened her mouth to answer, and then decided that the pseudo-supernatural exploits of a cartoon Great Dane and his wacky followers in the Mystery Machine was probably going to take far too long to explain to a man from 1880. “It’s just what my friends call themselves. But I wanted to see what Willow was so upset about, and I don’t get it. They seemed to just be talking about a normal patrol, and some spell Willow wanted to do.” She pressed play on the remote.

   “So. We’re all in agreement?”  Willow asked again.

   “Erg... can I go back any farther?” Buffy asked. She tried to hit rewind again, but it all cut into static when she tried to see what happened before the section of the meeting she’d witnessed. “I don’t get it. The only times it cuts into static are when someone wants privacy. Like in bed or in the shower or something.”

   “Or a secret?” William asked. “What was it you did hear, then?”

   “I don’t know, exactly. I didn’t hear enough detail.” Buffy let the meeting play out so that William could see it. “I don’t get it. I think Willow’s trying to track down some big bad which might be beyond her, and Xander’s not that keen on her doing it.”

   “That’s possible,” William said. “Let me try to turn back... sometimes something that’s a secret for one person isn’t a secret for another. What’s your other friend’s name?”

   “Xander.”

   But trying to see the meeting from Xander’s perspective didn’t help. Or Anya’s, or even Tara’s. Buffy kept pressing buttons until she saw Willow leaving the house – she and Tara seemed to have moved in with Dawn – leaving Dawn with Spike.

   William caught his breath when he saw the girl and the vampire in a brief hug of greeting. “Get off her!” he muttered.

   Buffy took William’s hand. “He’s really not going to hurt her, William.”

   “How can you know that?”

   Buffy turned off the television. “It doesn’t matter.” She sat down, troubled. She didn’t know why. Willow about to go do something a little dangerous sounded like regular Scooby procedure. “I don’t understand... why would this Scooby meeting be secret? So secret it’s blocked from even, like, heaven. And why wasn’t Giles there?”

   “I don’t know.”

   “I refuse to believe they’ve started some freaky four-way and it just segued into a Scooby meeting,” Buffy said. “So it’s got to be something else.” Buffy gnawed on her metaphysical equivalent of a thumbnail.

   “Does it matter?”

   “No...” Buffy said. Then she changed her mind. “Yes. Yes, it does. Willow sounded so uncertain, and I... I have a bad feeling.”

   William looked at her hard. “A bad feeling?”

   “I was a slayer,” she said. “Slayers get premonitions and things. This feels like that, but... now I’m just a spirit of a slayer, and I don’t have the Scoobies to bounce this off of. I don’t know what to do.” She grunted in annoyance. “If I could just see the rest of that meeting!”

   “Would you like to?”

   “There’s a way?”

   “One,” William said. “One that I know of. You need someone with the sight, who can cut through interference, even from... other forces.”

   “Like the Powers That Be?” Buffy said. “The ones who decided to mess my life up to start with?”

   William chuckled. “Yes.”

   “Well, how do we find such a person?”

   “Easy,” William said. He stood up straighter and held his hand out to Buffy. “Will you take my arm, Miss Summers? I should like to introduce you to my murderer.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

   The area they were in was solid mist, though the sounds of clopping horses and fluttering pigeons penetrated the fog. It sounded like a bustling Victorian city, but Buffy couldn’t see a thing. Tales of London Fog made her realize it might look the same, too. “Is Drusilla like your mother?” Buffy asked as they walked. It seemed to be taking a long time to get there. “Is she going to have to really concentrate to be... solid and stuff?”

   “No,” William said. “Drusilla’s circumstances are... complex. She lives here with her family – what few of them are left. Most have moved on, though Drusilla must, of course, remain.”

   “Same as you.”

   “Indeed.” William seemed even stiffer than normal. He held tightly to her arm, and kept his eyes firmly ahead.

   “William, are you all right?” Buffy asked. “You look nervous.” William always looked nervous, but he looked worse just now.

   “Drusilla... makes me uneasy,” William said. “There are some aspects of her I have come to care for deeply, and some...” He shrugged. “It will be easier to understand when you meet her.”

   William finally pulled Buffy up a small flagstone step and knocked on a door that seemed made of lizard skin, though it had a plain Victorian knocker in the middle. Before it opened, William took a firm grip on her arm. “Until I release you,” he said, “do not wander off on your own. Should we be separated, leave. Go home immediately.”

   “Is she dangerous?” Buffy asked. The idea of anything being dangerous here seemed impossible.

   “She is confusing,” William said. “It’s hard to expl–”

   The door burned to ash before them and a little girl looked up at William with interest. William smiled at her. “Good afternoon, Dru,” he said to her. “Could I speak to her, please?”

   “We saw you coming,” the girl said. She tripped back inside and tipped over what looked like a cauldron on a big old cast iron stove. Three bedraggled dolls flopped out onto the floor, along with the boiling water. The girl picked two of the dolls up and carried them off, and the third doll stood up and followed, limping. Buffy stared.

   The room looked completely wrong. There were no walls at all to speak of, just more of that terrible mist, but the place was clearly marked out as a comfortable kitchen. The stove, a fireplace, some windows hanging in the mist, a table, a cupboard, some chairs. But everything stood stark and alone, disconnected, framed by the mist, and it was all grotesquely out of scale. Some of the chairs were too small, some of the windows were too large, the stove took up half the wall. The little girl set the boiled dolls before the fireplace and set about breaking them. The one that moved carefully broke herself into seven different parts, and then looked bewildered when her head fell to the ground.

   “What in the  _ hell, _ ” Buffy whispered.

   “It’s all right.” William looked remarkably calm given the grotesquery before him.

   Buffy started suddenly as a terrible howl shook the windows in their frames, a horrid, unearthly noise. “What’s that?”

   “Just the wuthering. Happens all the time.”

   A woman came through the mist, ran through the table, breaking it with an eerie silence, and jumped upon William.

   “William, sweet William, gentle William, dashing stranger...” The young woman hung on William as if in the throes of passion, trying to plant kisses on his face. William looked a little uncomfortable and gently put her aside, only for another woman to come screaming from the shadow by the stove. She almost attacked him, but he stood impassive, and her blows did not seem to land.

   “Is Mariah still here?” he asked the women.

   “No,” said two cockney voices in unison. Buffy looked and saw two small creatures, the size of children but with women’s faces, one black and one white. “Sister Mariah moved away. Sister Mariah couldn’t stay. Pity Mariah. Pity.” They moved away hand in hand and patiently set about reassembling the table.

   “What the hell is this place?” Buffy hissed.

   “Mum’s still here,” said another little girl voice. A naked and dirty little urchin climbed out of the fireplace, her cockney harsh with gutter-poison. “You want I should dig her up?”

   Buffy didn’t really want to know what the filthy child meant.

   “No, mostly we came to ask a question.”

   “Coming,” screamed the passionate creature that had been hanging on William a moment before.

   “I know,” William said patiently. “Take your time.”

   Another wuthering howl shook the misty house. Buffy was completely baffled. “Who are all these people?” Buffy hissed.

   “This is Drusilla,” William said.

   Buffy looked around. The wall-less room was getting quite crowded now. Only half the people looked even human, their faces contorted, their bodies or behavior twisted or animalistic or childlike. “Which one?”

   “All of them,” William said. “The demon Angelus attacked Drusilla. Tore apart her life, her god, her sanity. Eventually he rent her soul itself asunder, and then took her life, leaving her here...” he looked about him. “Like this.”

   Buffy was appalled. She’d always known that what Angel had done to Dru was horrific. But to see it illustrated, the woman’s mind, her very soul shredded so mercilessly that she couldn’t even find herself in heaven...!

   “And what’s this tasty morsel doing here?” said a voice that sounded all too familiar, with an accent that seemed just a little off. “We going to rip its head off?”

   “Angel!” What the hell was Angel doing there? His soul was on earth, and given the fact he was all fanged and bumpy, Buffy was pretty sure he wasn’t acting remotely angelic. This was Angelus, at his worst evil. He was dressed in a tall black hat, genteel Victorian fashion. He had a lump of flesh in his hand, and Buffy was disgusted to see tiny fingers within the lump... no. No, that was just intestine or something, it couldn’t be... she refused to believe it. “What–”

   “I’d like first taste.” Angelus cut her off and slid like liquid off his perch.

   “But I couldn’t take my pleasure, then,” said another voice. The same accent, only the harshness was out of it. Another Angel came forward and took Buffy’s free hand. He was dressed in 16th century clothes, a little more country than genteel. “Pleased to see you around, darlin’. Name of Liam. Don’t let that fool at your side there throw a cloud on your silver linin’. It’s time–”

   “Both of you, sod off!” William barked. He sounded a lot like Spike. He pushed Liam off of Buffy and stood between them. Even though Buffy didn’t need the protection, William’s gallantry was instinctive, and kind of touching. What could he protect her from that she couldn’t handle just as well? As a spirit, no less?

   “Will, I can handle myself against a vampire,  _ or _ Liam, though... how did they...?”

   “I told you, it’s Drusilla,” William said. “It’s all Drusilla. She brought the demon into her own mind. It poisoned her soul, so he’s part of her too. She created the Liam aspect after he was called to Earth. Before that she used to just... follow him a great deal. One aspect of her always hung upon him. I always told him he should try to bring her back to herself, try to unify her. I managed to help her do that with a few aspects myself. But Liam kept insisting that it wasn’t his affair. All that horror had happened to Drusilla long after he had died, so her madness was no responsibility of his.”

   It was awful. “And Liam didn’t try to do anything for her?” Buffy asked. “He just left her like this?”

   Of course he had. Angel had left her, too, Buffy realized. He’d gotten his soul, and run away, washing his hands of responsibility for Drusilla or Spike or even Darla and the Master. He’d washed his hands of the sins he’d committed, feeling the guilt, but not doing the work required to make amends for his sins. Not until after he met Buffy...

   Buffy had never realized how disgusting it was that Angel tried to pretend Angelus was a completely different person. Clearly Drusilla had felt they were much the same, or she wouldn’t have created a Liam aspect of her own when she no longer had him to cling to.

   Another brutal wuthering shook the mock house, and Buffy’s fists clenched, ready to slay. The place was terrifying. It was a good thing she wasn’t prone to terror, but she could envision anyone else – say, Dawn for instance – screaming as she cowered in the crumbling house surrounded by the stripped aspects of a mad woman.

   “Can they hurt us?” Buffy asked.

   “I don’t think so,” William said. “Angelus and a couple of the women are the most dangerous, but most of her is horrified by anything that looks like pain to others. Also, I’m not sure we can be physically hurt. But Drusilla can be very disturbing to spend time around.”

   “How the hell are we supposed to see  _ anything _ in all this chaos?” Buffy asked. Several of the Drusilla creatures were playing Ring-Around-A-Rosy, and they melted into bloody messes at “we all fall down.” Then they picked themselves up, still bloody, and went their separate ways, spreading blood along the floor.

   “No, it’s all right,” William said. “There’s only one we’ve come to see.”

   “What?”

   Suddenly a sibilant hiss softened the chaos around them. “Shhh....” The wuthering was shushed like it was a crying child, and someone stepped through the fog. This one looked properly like Drusilla. She was dressed all in white, with a covering over her head, which wasn’t quite a nun’s wimple, but looked fairly close. She stepped forward to William with an absolutely charming smile on her face. “William,” she said softly. She seemed almost shy, and rather angelic. “Pleasant to see you again.”

   “Perhaps I should have come sooner.”

   “Yes!” one of the blooded creatures called out from the corner, only to be tackled by the black and white twins and dragged off into the mist. “Yes! Hold him! Never let him–”

   “No,” the angelic one said. “In some ways, you know, you can make it all worse.”

   “I know.” William glanced around, assessed the chaos, and finally seemed to decide it was safe to let go of Buffy’s arm. “I’ve missed you. You haven’t really seemed to need me.” He gave Drusilla a chaste and careful embrace.

   “She’s been playing quieter games lately,” Drusilla said. “Not quite as many children.”

   “Small blessings,” William said.

   “Oh, god.” Buffy was horrified. Drusilla was still called to the arrivals of everyone the vampire Dru ever killed, Buffy realized. With her soul shattered like this, she still had to endure the horror and the terror and possibly the recriminations of everyone the vampiress murdered. She almost felt doubly sorry for the victims, having to wake up to heaven with this kind of chaos. “How do you keep them from thinking they’re in hell?”

   “This is the aspect she usually sends to the arrivals, Buffy,” William said. “She’s very gentle with them. Buffy Summers, I’d like to introduce you to Drusilla. Dru – Miss Summers.”

   “How do you do?” said a small child at Buffy’s right hand. The little girl curtseyed, stuck a doll in Buffy’s hand, and then ran off laughing. “Pleased to meet you!” the doll said in a tiny voice. Buffy nearly dropped it.

   William mercifully took the doll and passed it off to some other aspect.     

   “You must forgive me for all this,” the angelic Drusilla said quietly, gesturing around her helplessly.

   “It’s all right,” William said. “I understand.”

   “Yes, you understand,” the white-robed woman said. “You always understood.” One of the girls in the circle around them started to sob inconsolably. “Shh...” the woman said again, and one of the children took the girl and walked her, still howling with sorrow, across to the other room.

   “We had some questions,” William said. “Need a little help looking down. Do you think you could let us in?”

   “Clear a space?” the woman said. “‘Course I can.” She gestured to Buffy and stepped toward the mist. William took gentle hold of Buffy’s upper arm and directed her through the rest of Drusilla’s madness, pulling her through another door – this one made of what looked like eggshell – and into a room of pitch darkness.

   The door slammed shut behind them, leaving Buffy fumbling in the dark for a moment, and then a single candle guttered into life. The candle hovered, turned into a small sun which still had the warmth and wavering quality of the candle, and then shot up to the misty roof. It seemed as if a chandelier hung above them, casting beautiful shadows, though they were still slightly disturbing. Buffy could hear the wuthering and the cries of Drusilla’s other aspects still echoing in the distance, but they seemed muffled by the eggshell of this quiet space.

   It was quite an eggshell. The glowing sun was like a yolk, and this single calm aspect of Drusilla began making gestures, whipping up chairs and a table, a plain and narrow bed. It looked like a cell in a convent – Buffy had seen a few in the course of her work. The only thing Drusilla brought up that looked out of place was a mirrored vanity. Two exquisite dolls stood on either side of the mirror, one in white and one in black, but unlike the twins outside, they were both fully adult. The one in black was a vampire. The one in white was a holy sister. The mirror was black between them.

   “I tried to clean up before you come,” Drusilla said quietly.

   “You did admirably,” William said. “We got through without much trouble.” Buffy realized that the horrifying chaos outside of this shielded egg was usually  _ worse. _

   “What was it you was wanting, William?” she asked. Someone pounded on the wall, and the egg shook a little with the wuthering outside.

   “Buffy’s having some trouble on Earth. I thought you might be able to help her look down?”

   Drusilla smiled. “So it’s Buffy now, is it?” She looked Buffy over with an absolutely charming smile. Buffy was struck by how very beautiful Drusilla was. The demoness she’d always known had been unearthly and seductive, but almost spiderlike in her behavior and movement. It had always left Buffy a little creeped out, and she wasn’t easily creeped by vampires.

   This Drusilla had none of that. She seemed purity itself. But of course, she would be – everything impure had been stripped off, shunted aside, and was pounding at the walls with the wuthering wind of her madness. This was the tiny core of... something. Buffy wasn’t sure it was sanity, exactly. But it was pure. “Been waiting for you a long time, they have. They missed you once before, right? Never got here that first time.”

   “Um... do you mean the first time I died?” Buffy asked. “Yeah, I was brought back.”

   “That’s got to be a theme with you, then,” Drusilla said. “What are you needing?”

   “We’re not quite sure,” William said. “Her friend called on her, and she can’t seem to make out what was troubling her.”

   “You’ve got dangerous friends, you have,” Drusilla said. “How loud did she call?”

   “I don’t really know if she meant to call me at all,” Buffy said. “It sounded really uncertain, and... she hasn’t called me before. So that’s strange, too. She was my best friend.”

   “Can you help us?” William asked.

   Drusilla looked up at him, and the look on her face was tragic as anything. “Oh, William,” she said. “You know I’d move heaven and earth for you.” She said it with an amused smile, but Buffy realized the woman meant it. She turned to stare at Buffy. “There’s secrets around this one,” she said. “Not so many bonds as she pretends. And one was only stuck on with horse glue. Who did that?”

   “Ahm... I don’t know what you mean.”

   “The girl. That one’s badly stitched in, not grown in you natural. How’d you get a stitched in love?”

   “Um... some monks,” Buffy said, feeling self-conscious.

   “Well, it’s true enough now. Who else are you caring for?” Drusilla looked into her more deeply, and very suddenly the light wavered, the wuthering outside sounded louder, and everything seemed to tremble. There was the sound of screaming in the distance. The egg around them seemed to crack, and in stepped a figure – Angelus. “So it’s me again, darlin’,” he said with a soft and very evil smile. “You knew you couldn’t escape me forever.”

   William jumped up and stood between him and Drusilla. “He’s in the past, Dru,” he said.

   “He’s in  _ her _ past,” Drusilla said. She herself sounded remarkably calm, though the noises outside this once-safe place were reaching a terrible cacophony. “Oh, that’s a right plum.”

   As Buffy watched, Angelus seemed to shrink, and Liam climbed in after him through the crack in the egg. “Hey, wait for me,” he announced. He climbed into Angelus through the back, and suddenly there was Angel. All billowy-coat king-of-pain as Riley had called him, and he turned to Buffy and sank to his knees. “Buffy...!” he whispered.

   Buffy knew this was Drusilla, but it was strange seeing Angel here. She knew she should want to fall into his arms, as she always did. There was no urge at all. “Drusilla, he’s not part of this,” Buffy said quietly.

   “Yes, he is,” Drusilla said. “He’s still deep in you as he is in me. Tore me apart too, he did.”

   Buffy was about to protest that Angel hadn’t torn her apart, but it was one of those lies she could no longer tell, so she didn’t even bother. “I’m fine now.”

   “Not for long,” Drusilla said. “Thanks for that, though. Think I can put paid to him, now. Go on with you.” She stood up and pointed at the crack in the egg as if Angel were an erring puppy. “Shoo! Out!” Angel looked bewildered. He shuddered, stood up, and backed toward the crack in the wall.

   As Drusilla was driving the manifestation of the source of her madness away, William came up to Buffy. “What did you just do?”

   “What?”

   “How did you get her to unify even that much? In a moment, no less! And to take that demon down to...  _ that. _ ”

   Buffy shook her head. “I don’t know. That’s how I always knew Angel.”

   William stared at her in complete awe. “It took me half a century of coaxing and persuading to make even a few aspects of Drusilla come together to create  _ her, _ ” he gestured at the white clad figure. “And you took her two darkest aspects down in a  _ moment. _ ”

   “Who is her,” Buffy asked. “I mean, I know it’s Dru, but... which bits?”

   “None of them ever had names,” William said. “Some had characteristics. This is a meld of about six. Strength and kindness, one of the ones with visions, something that was fairly articulate, and there was one...” he glanced over at Drusilla, who seemed to be mending the crack in the egg. “Well, you might see that later. It looks different, but it’s the same. It’s the core, I... I can’t explain.”

   Drusilla returned, looking just as peaceful and serene as before. Buffy actually found it unnerving. Whatever it was that Drusilla actually  _ felt _ about what was going on was clearly not held in this aspect. It was one of the creatures howling outside in the chaos. “I’m sorry,” Buffy said. She wanted to fold the woman into her arms and say she was so, so sorry.

   “Oh, you know,” Dru said. “We all have our demons.” She smiled up at William, who looked shy. “Your friend called on you? What’d she say?”

   “ _ I hope I’m doing the right thing. _ But when I looked down, all I saw was just... something pretty normal, and I couldn’t figure out why she’d called me for that.”

   “Right,” Drusilla said. Her rich cockney made everything sound strange to Buffy. “Roight,” Buffy heard. “Which witch?”

   “What?”

   “Which witch? The copper or the brass?”

   “Um... if you mean hair color, the copper,” Buffy said, finally figuring out what Drusilla meant. “Willow. She’s the one who called me.”

   “Right,” Drusilla said again. She tilted her head down and stared into Buffy’s eyes. A moment later she groaned. “Three options to out,” she said quietly. “Can’t they just leave well ‘nough alone?”

   “What did you see?” William asked.

   “You won’t be liking it either, William,” Drusilla said.

   “Can you show us?”

   “Course,” Drusilla said evenly. She led William and Buffy over to the mirror and stared into it. A moment later it cleared, and Drusilla looked back – vampire Drusilla, dark and murderous, her eyes mad. That image faded again, and Buffy saw Xander’s living room again. “Can’t show much,” Dru said. “Not a public forum, this.”

   “But Willow, is this even possible?” Xander was saying. The connection, as it were, seemed to be flashing in and out between the image and the black. It reminded Buffy of that spell she cast when she got all trancy and found out Dawn hadn’t always been real.

   “It is,” Willow said. “I know I can bring Buffy back.”

   “Yes, but why?” Anya said. “I mean, I know she was important and everything, but people die, right? I don’t understand it, but that’s what Xander said when Joyce kicked it.”

   Willow glared at Anya, but Tara only shook her head. “I know,” she said softly. “It goes against everything we’ve been taught, it goes against nature. But Buffy dove into a hell dimension, and Willow’s sure she’s being tormented there. It... well, it wasn’t a natural death. It was a twist up by fate. And that’s why Willow thinks she can... well... untwist it.”

   “I can’t leave Buffy in hell!” Willow said, her face white beneath her red hair. “I’m going to get her back if it kills me!”

   “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Xander said.

   The connection cut, and the mirror showed only black. “They think I’m in hell?” Buffy demanded. “Why do they think I’m in hell!”

   “ _ The mind is its own place, _ ” William said, “ _ and in itself can make a heaven of hell and a hell of heaven. _ ” He was quoting something, she was sure of it. The wailing outside grew fainter for a moment. William looked at Buffy. “It’s harder to comprehend a place like this than a world of torment. I can’t believe I’m here, and I’m in it.” He looked back at the mirror. “They look like good friends.”

   “Good friends who are about to take me from my mom and my peace,” Buffy snapped. “What on earth do they want me back for?”

   Drusilla passed a hand over the mirror and Willow was sitting with Tara, working on... oh, the Buffybot. Buffy had almost forgotten about that. “Don’t you think it would be better to just tell the bill collectors she’s dead?” Tara asked. “I mean, Joyce’s hospital bills alone are going to eat up Buffy’s savings, and there’s the mortgage...”

   “We just have to get through a little while until we can get the urn of Osiris,” Willow insisted, tweaking the machine. “Then Buffy can take care of it.”

   “But if we let them know she’s dead–”

   “Then they’ll take Dawn!”

   Tara looked uncertain. “I know,” she said. “I just... I’m not sure that’s why you want to do this.”

   “The world  _ needs _ Buffy, Tara. Sunnydale needs Buffy. _ We _ need Buffy.”

   “You mean  _ you _ need Buffy.”

   Willow’s face closed. She had her resolve face on, and Buffy knew that look. “You already agreed, Tara. We can’t have Buffy die on paper and then magically reappear here in her own house. Everyone has to keep thinking she’s alive, and if that means bills, that means bills.”

   “Yeah, but how do we pay them? I’m on student loans, you don’t have a job, Xander can barely pay for his own apartmen–”

   “I’m telling you! Buffy will take care of it! In the meantime, the bills can just sit for a few months. We’ll all catch up.”

   Tara sighed. “I don’t know.”

   “ _ I _ know,” Willow said. “I cursed a vampire with a soul at the age of sixteen, I can do this. Do you doubt me?”

   “I...”

   Willow stared at her. “Do you doubt me?”

   Buffy could see Tara thinking. The last time she’d doubted Willow, she’d ended up Glory’s mental meal du jour. “No,” she said.

   “I do!” Buffy shouted at the mirror. “Given that will-cracked spell that made me want to get married to Spike, and the vampire doppelganger thing, and you think you can bring me back from the dead? I’m not in hell! Tara! Tell her I’m not in–” But the image went dark again.

   “What is Willow thinking?” Buffy asked.

   Drusilla passed her hand over the mirror again. This time Buffy knew she was looking into the past. There was Willow, alone in Spike’s crypt, chanting and chanting. Buffy lay in her coffin before her, and Willow took out a knife. The young witch took a deep breath, trembling. Then she swallowed, and bent down to Buffy. Buffy’s feet were bare, her pink-painted toenails bright against her pale-blueish flesh. Willow took hold of Buffy’s foot and carefully started sawing off Buffy’s little toe.

   Buffy felt sick. She knew it was just a residual memory of physical manifestation, but she still felt sick. She couldn’t look away. She stared, mouth agape, as Willow placed the flesh and bone into a little silver pill box. She hadn’t stopped chanting the whole time. She collected some of Buffy’s hair, next, and Buffy remembered Anya’s crass annoyance. Pecking away like some ghoul on the corpse....

   Willow took little corners of skin off Buffy with her knife, carefully hiding each tiny violation with Joyce’s staid black dress. “Willow, this is not what I want...” Buffy whispered.

   William came and took her hand, and Buffy found herself gripping it as if she were drowning. She almost felt she was. Willow saved all her little corpse bits in her silver pill box, and only stopped chanting once she’d sealed it. She gasped as if she’d just run a marathon.

   The outer door to Spike’s crypt opened, and Willow hastily shut the coffin. She jammed the pill box into her pocket and ran to the door to greet Spike, still damp and a little muddy from digging the grave. “I just finished,” Willow said. “She’s... decent.”

   Buffy turned away. She’d seen this before. Drusilla let her hand fall from the mirror, and William followed Buffy to the center of the room. Drusilla’s outer chaos seemed nothing to the maelstrom that Buffy felt was inside her just now. What was Willow doing? Her best friend, carving up her corpse like she was a Sunday roast. William put his hand on her shoulder. Just held it there. Buffy turned and folded herself into his embrace, afraid of what she felt. William hesitated, and then embraced her in return. There was no warmth, no weight, no body, nothing physical about it at all. But unlike that abortive kiss at the Bronze, Buffy did, in fact, feel held. She was glad of it. The howling wind hummed fiercely outside this tiny, safe space, but the calm Drusilla only watched them.

   William finally turned to her. “Is there any way of stopping them?”

   “That gets harder to see,” Drusilla said. “You know about twisted futures.”

   William sagged. “Yes. But can we stop it?”

   “It’s not set yet, I don’t think,” Drusilla said. “But I don’t have power to change, only to see. You’re the shifters and the movers of this catastrophe. You’ll have to see what you can affect.”

   William let go of Buffy entirely. “But it is possible to stop them? If we keep calling down, if we keep on them, do you think they’d let this folly go?”

   “They could be stopped, I think,” Drusilla said. “But it’s not like it’d be doddle. The copper head – she’s the one too blind. Too much strength in her... not enough insight. You won’t be able to stop  _ her _ , but maybe some of the others.”

   “That’s it?” William asked. “That’s all we can do? Work on Buffy’s friends?”

   “Work on everyone ‘round her,” Drusilla said, her eyes fixed on William. “And there’s a chance you’ll get to stay here.”

   “Oh, thank god,” Buffy said.

   Drusilla smiled, and her eyes flicked to Buffy. “Wasn’t talking to you, love,” she said. She closed her eyes. “I’ve seen far enough. I’m shattered. William?”

   “Yes?”

   “Before you go... D’you mind?”

   William’s face softened. “Not at all.”

   Drusilla smiled and turned away, and a small child in a white shift came rushing out from under the bed and leaped upon William. “Hallo, pet,” William said to the little girl. She had rich dark hair, and she looked no more than three. It was another aspect of Drusilla, Buffy knew. William took her into his arms and sat down on a rocking chair which had appeared behind him. “Are you feeling all right?”

   The little girl shook her head, unwilling or unable to talk, but William didn’t seem to expect an answer. He pulled her against his breast and began to rock her gently. “There we go, my angel. It’s all right now. I’m here for you. Don’t mind it. Don’t mind it, now.  _ Early one morning just as the sun was rising, _ ” he sang, “ _ I heard a young maid singing in the valley down below... _ ”

   The Drusilla in white was nowhere to be seen, Buffy realized. William finished a verse in his song, and then glanced over at Buffy. “I might be at this a while,” he said. “You can go if you want.”

   He looked so tender as he held that tormented child. Spike’s face, Spike’s hands, Spike’s voice, all tempered and softened and new, like looking at baby pictures, and he held Drusilla as if he would protect her from... herself. The distant sounds of the screaming and the wuthering were even further muted as he rocked the child. Such a small amount of peace in the midst of the chaos. Just as he had calmed Buffy a moment before. This was William’s power, she realized. This quiet devotion, this love in the midst of complete chaos. It was what Spike still held, within his violence and his arrogance. But this, here, this was pure and unsullied. The soul of young William. The purest aspect of Drusilla. Even seeing this soft intimacy felt to Buffy like being given a gift. “Can I stay?” Buffy asked softly.

   William smiled at her. “If Dru wasn’t all right with that, some one of her would remove you,” he said. “I don’t mind.”

   Buffy perched on the edge of the ascetic bed. She didn’t know how long she stayed there, but she watched as William sang, stroking the child’s hair, rocking the mad Drusilla into sleep.

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

   “So, what’s the best way to go about this?” Buffy asked when they got back to her space. William had taken Drusilla’s young aspect down into something that certainly looked like sleep, tucked her into her bed, and then left. They’d managed to leave without alerting any of her other aspects, if they were even awake. It was very still as they passed through the mist and back toward Buffy’s.

   “Constant vigilance,” William said. “We won’t be able to affect anything that has already passed, so we can’t look back and change things. We have to stay up to the moment on what’s happening  _ now. _ ”

   “How can you tell the difference? I mostly just let what they’re saying guide the images.”

   William went into what he had managed to discover over time about looking down on Earth. It involved mostly being very specific about what you were looking for, rather than letting the needs of the living dictate what you saw. 

   “But constant vigilance is going to be difficult,” he said. “Souls become weary. You know that.”

   Buffy thought about this. He was right, she still needed to perceive a good night’s sleep, pretty often. “We’ll get Mom to help,” she said. “And Kendra. And I’ll bet we could call in Merrick. He was a  _ watcher _ , after all.” Buffy briefly wondered if she should ask if Anne would be interested in helping, and then decided no. Anne was pretty misty most of the time, from what Buffy had gathered. “We’ll take turns,” she added. “It’s annoying that we can’t just tell Willow the truth. I mean, just enough to check it out and see I’m not in hell.”

   “If Drusilla says she won’t listen, we have no hope there,” William said. “And the other three... they seem in agreement. Do your friends respond to you easily?”

   “Xander has a few times,” Buffy said. “Dawn did at first, but almost never anymore. Tara... it’s hard to tell with Tara. She goes kinda still when I’m trying to say something to her, but she never seems to answer or change what she’s doing.” Buffy stopped. “Spike hears me a lot.”

   William stared at her. “We’re not going to try to influence Spike.”

   “Why not?”

   “It wouldn’t work, for one.”

   “But it does, I’ve seen it.”

   “I have shouted at that thing to stop killing for over a century,” William said. “He’s not going to hear me.”

   “Well, he hears me,” Buffy said. “I’ll work on him.”

   William looked disgruntled. “I can’t stop you, but I wish you wouldn’t.”

   “Um... you don’t get to pick, Will,” Buffy snapped, and then felt bad. He looked instantly wounded. She’d forgotten – he wasn’t Spike. William was much more sensitive and easily hurt. He also wasn’t Angel or Giles or anyone who had ever tried to control her. William had only ever deferred to her, and tried to show he cared about her, and tried to learn from her. If anything, she was controlling  _ him _ most of the time. He’d stopped wearing his glasses, for one. He’d helped her learn about contacting Earth, and about this place, and everything. And he had much more reason than Buffy did to not trust Spike. A hundred years worth of screaming, crying, murdered reasons.  

   “Look,” she said. “I get where you’re coming from. I do. But there’s more to Spike than just the evil, and I’m not going to turn away from a potential ally just because he legitimately gives us both the wiggins.”

   “These  _ wiggins _ of yours are your soul telling you it's wrong to trust him.”

   “But it’s not wrong,” Buffy said. “Well, it is, but not about everything. He is a killer. But... when it comes to things he cares about... he’s also... oh, god.” She really couldn’t believe she was saying this. “He can be heroic, he really can.”

   William shook his head. “I still don’t believe this image of him that you paint. He’s a vicious, immoral fiend, devoid of feeling, with nothing in his head but death and destruction.”

   Buffy frowned. “William, how do you manage to lie so well?”

   “What?”

   “You’re the one who told me it’s impossible to lie here unless every part of you truly believes that lie. But... you must know it’s a lie.”

   “I know nothing of the kind.”

   “While you’re rocking Drusilla to sleep in her madness? That didn’t come from your life, that only happened here. Why would Drusilla see you as anything but just another victim, if it wasn’t clear that she and Spike had something on earth?”

   “Drusilla saw me long before she was turned,” William said. “She saw everything, before Angelus ever spotted her on the street. She saw the future. She saw her family murdered, herself tormented and raped, she saw her soul being rent apart and her body used to house a demon. And she saw the life of that demon as well, and she saw your Spike as her consort. When I first arrived here, there was Drusilla. She grabbed me and held me and begged my forgiveness. She said I was to be the only solace she would ever know.”

    Buffy thought about this. “You mean the demon,” she said. “The soul was free. You were solace for the demon.”

   “I... I don’t...” William looked confused. “It matters not!”

   “I think it matters a lot.”

   William glared at her. “Why do you trust that creature?” he asked. “What hold does he have over your very soul?”

   Buffy stared at William for a long moment, and decided it was time. She went to the answering machine. As always, there were a couple messages for her. She pressed play. One from Dawn, “I miss you.” One was from Xander. “Really coulda used your help with that vamp last night, Buff. Ow... nearly dislocated my shoulder.” And then she found the next one. The ones she usually had to skip.

   “All right, Buffy.” Spike’s voice was tense, but languid. Buffy always figured this was the only way he could get to sleep. He couldn’t face the oblivion without the fantasy to comfort him. He’d lay in bed, or sit in his chair and tell himself – tell Buffy– these stories. Sometimes he sounded very drunk. 

   “I saved you,” he said. “I saved you. This is how I did it. I was faster, this time. I guessed Doc was up there, but I didn’t wait to banter with him. Fat lot of good that did us. No, I just fought him. Fought him fast, charged down that damn diving board and just barreled him off it. Hell, bit his sodding head off as I went. He went down all smoosh, naught but a bloody stain on the bloody pavement, yeah? And then Dawn, she had plenty of time. No blood, no cuts, and by the time you were done beating that god bitch to a pulp, we were all in the clear, yeah? Never even opened up that damn portal. You and Dawn just sauntered down those stairs, like a season debut.”

   Buffy wondered how far he was going to go this time. There were times the second half of his fantasy devolved into vivid pornographic detail of how Buffy would thank him. There were times he died in his scenario, and it wouldn’t matter what happened next. Just that everyone was safe, and he was bloody out of it. There were times Buffy was angry at him, and would stake him after – like the time he’d imagined throwing Dawn into the damn portal, and the time he saved Dawn, but let the damn hell gate bleed its poison into the earth. Most of the time it was just peace. Buffy alive. Dawn alive. All the Scoobies happy. No Glory. No portal. No mystical key blood. And no need for Buffy to ever have jumped.

   “And you come down, and you and Dawn pick me up... put my leg back straight... kinda pop my ribs back. And then Harris says he knows a 24 hour pizza place, and you let me put my arm around you, ‘cause I can’t walk.” (Buffy knew there was no 24 hour pizza place in Sunnydale. Spike was in pure fantasy mode now.) “And we head off, and Dawn gets pepperoni... ‘cause she likes pepperoni. And Tara starts singing show tunes like she does when she thinks no one’s listening – only she doesn’t mind us listening tonight. And Harris finally admits he proposed to Anya, like he thinks  _ that’s _ really a secret, with her dropping hints like they were hot rocks. And I slide a bit of Jack into my coke, and I nearly spill it, ‘cause... ‘cause my arm’s broke, too. It was a hell of a fall, Buffy. I should have been dusted... why didn’t I bloody dust? Split the spine, wouldn’t have been so hard. I seen folks heads come clean off from a high enough fall...” He made a sound. Given how often Spike had been crying lately, it was probably a sob.

   “So you grab me a straw... but I don’t even care anymore, ‘cause you’ve reached over to get it, and your hair is right under my nose, and I get to breathe it in... god, the scent of you. And then you let me put my head on your shoulder... feel your warmth beside me. And then you take my hand...” He was clearly crying now. “And then I just pass out, ‘cause the pain’s too bad, but I don’t care. You’re here. I saved you.... You’re alive.”

   Buffy had known – generally – what was coming, so had steeled herself. She rarely listened to these messages.  She couldn’t bear to after a while. There were dozens of them, sometimes two or three in a day. Every once in a while she’d hear the first few lines and the story would catch her, or Spike would do something with Dawn, and she wanted to know where his mind was that day. The time he’d envisioned throwing Dawn into the gate and then wrestling Buffy back when she tried to follow, the next day he’d bought Dawn an enormous chocolate cake with what Buffy figured to be his cigarette money. He’d been without smokes for three days after that, anyway. It strangely smacked of guilt, and it had only been for a fantasy.  

   “He dreams about me, too,” Buffy said. “He keeps calling me down for them when I sleep, but he can’t seem to see me. He’s always looking... and I’m always falling, or flying, further and further away. When I look down, it turns out he wakes up screaming, and then he spends the rest of the day in the bottom of a bottle, usually cursing me. Sometimes quite inventively. And crying.”

   The message machine was still running, issuing a low white noise, so Buffy turned it off. Finally she looked back at William.

   William was staring at her, his face entirely unreadable. “You said it was her,” he finally said. “You said he cared about Dawn.”

   “He does.”

   There was a long, long beat. “He’s in love with you.”

   Buffy opened her mouth to say her standard proviso,  _ He doesn’t have a soul, so he can’t love, but he believes he is. _ “Yes, he is,” she said instead. Truth was a cruel bitch.

   William lowered his head. “That’s why he...”

   “That’s why almost all of it,” Buffy said. “I think it’s why he came back to Sunnydale, why he helped me with my mom and Dawn in the first place, why he started getting close to her – though now I think he loves her in her own right. Like a little sister or something. It’s why he let Glory torture him, so I wouldn’t... I wouldn’t be hurt. By grieving for her. He said he couldn’t have lived seeing me in that much pain.” Buffy shook her head. “I think the truth of that scared the hell out of him, actually. That my pain was his.”

   William didn’t look right. He seemed to have frozen in place, and his eyes were fixed on the middle distance.

   “William?” Buffy came up and tried to take his hand. He pulled it away and pushed back his hair, in a gesture that seemed more Spike than William. “William, what’s wrong?”

   “I was so sure we were different,” he said quietly.

   “What?”

   He shook his head. “I was so sure... so completely sure that there was nothing of me in him.” He reached up and touched his face, dabbing away the tears he was shedding. He gave Buffy a half amused glare. “You really make me far too solid, pet. I can’t remember the last time I cried.” He sniffed. “God, that creature....”

   Buffy remembered his horror at the idea of being himself within that blood-drenched life. “I’m... sorry. But... I mean, maybe there isn’t anything much of you in him. I mean, just because he was able to fall in love with someone – I mean, it’s not as if you’d have fallen for Dru as a vampire, and he sure as hell loved her, and what’s so similar about me and Cecily anyway, and....”

   Buffy trailed off. William was staring at her with a frankly pointed look. “I’ve been  _ subtle? _ ” he asked.

   When Buffy didn’t respond he continued. “Maybe it’s the times. I thought introducing you to my mother was clear enough. But then the message of a bow or the gesture of an arm means nothing in your era. It’s all erotic touches and illicit seduction. Things he became very skilled at, according to his victims. No doubt I’ve been too reserved for you to recognize....” He shrugged. “I suppose it could have been worse. I could have threatened you with poetry.”

   Oh. William wasn’t just upset that Spike had fallen in love. Apparently they had fallen in love with the same person.

   “I suppose I need be blunt.” William raised his head and took in a breath. She’d seen that gesture before. On Spike. Just before he confessed how he felt. “I...” But he hadn’t Spike’s strength. “Good god,” he muttered, and turned away. “Forgive me.”

   Buffy found she wanted to hear it. She’d heard it from Spike, and the idea had horrified her. The fixation of a vampire  _ again! _ But now.... “Really?”

   William looked back, wounded hope in his eyes. “Slayer...” he whispered. He reached out and gently touched her hair. “I can’t believe I’d have to say it. How could you possibly not know? Heroine. Champion. Destroyer of fiends. The one person on the planet who could have saved me from myself that night. Buffy Summers, the Vampire Slayer. How could I not love you?”

   Buffy didn’t know what her response would have been on earth. His confession sounded like it had come out of a movie – Pride and Prejudice, maybe, or something out of Dickens, some one of those intensely marriage-based period costume dramas where who stayed over at whoever’s mansion meant the future prosperity or ruin of some white-clad young miss. But then, those movies had come from old books, and those old books had been written when William was alive and trying to be a poet. It was touching and awkward and sweet and the kind of confession that – he was right – seemed entirely out of place in her own era.

   But she wasn’t sure what the proper response would have been then, either. She didn’t know what she should do now.

   William shook his head. “I know nothing can happen between us. I know I’m not worthy, but–”

   “Why would you think you’re not worthy?”

   “You said so yourself. You’d have broken me.”

   Buffy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, as a person.”

   “What?”

   “Well, I was a slayer. We’re... fucked up people, who hang out in cemeteries at night and like killing things, but I don’t have to do that anymore.” Buffy didn’t like that he’d just dismissed any chance of anything. Did he think her made of ice?

   “Then why did you say... at your music hall, you said...”

   “I did,” Buffy said. “But I didn’t mean we couldn’t ever.... Hell, I kissed you! I thought  _ that _ wasn’t very subtle!”

   “I... didn’t presume...”

   “Look, I wasn’t lying. I couldn’t make it work with a normal guy, and a gentle soul like you would have been.... But what’s any of that matter up here? All that’s cut-throughable, right? It’s just gone, so there’s no fear or doubt or screwing people up or getting them killed. There’s no monsters, no night, no life to try and work out. We’re just souls.” Buffy shrugged. “I think it’s all safe. I think... I think that’s the point of this place. It’s safe to do stuff like that.” She looked up at him. “Don’t you think?”

   William looked bewildered now. “Stuff... like what?”

   “Like... getting close to people, and... well, some of it’s kinda pointless in some ways without even a body to get all horny and stuff, but... I don’t have to worry about breaking anyone up here. Not even sensitive breaky people. So....” She shrugged.

   “Are... are you saying...?”

   “I’m saying...” Buffy didn’t know what she was saying. She didn’t know if she loved William. She was still getting to know him, and his similarities to Spike did confuse her at times, but she knew she wanted him close and that he was important to her. Explaining all that seemed really complicated though. “Oh, to hell with it,” she said. She stepped forward and put her arms around William. There. That was descriptive enough.

   William embraced her in turn, burying his head in her hair. “You really shouldn’t use that word,” he said after a long moment. His voice sounded oddly thick. Happy. “This is not hell.”

***

 

   “The witch is  _ what? _ ”

   That was the watcher Merrick’s response. He and Joyce were both horrified.

   “Trying to bring Buffy back to Earth,” William said. He didn’t know any of the others at all well, though he’d spent some time with Joyce since Buffy had introduced them. He liked Joyce. She was a fine woman, a  _ lady _ he’d have called her, in his time. She knew art and poetry and she loved her daughter. And she too had been fond of Spike.

   Anyone being fond of Spike had always struck William as some kind of disease or illness. Like Drusilla. But Buffy and Joyce... they were fond of Spike. He still couldn’t make sense of the idea.

   “Is that even possible?” Merrick asked.

   “Drusilla says it is,” Buffy answered, “and from what I know of the other Dru... well... it’s worth believing.”

   “Believe Dru,” William said. “She’s never told me anything untrue... though sometimes she is difficult to understand. Her gifts were born in her. They came from god, not the demon. She still has them now.”

   Joyce regarded him earnestly. “And you really think we have enough influence over those on Earth to stop it?” she asked. “I haven’t tried to use much influence. My girls were handling everything so well whenever I looked down on them.”

   “We can do it, but we’d need your help,” William said. “There are so many of them, and only so much time. Time may mean little to us, but it keeps passing below all the same. We would need to rest. I’ve been here longer than any of you, and even I still need to rest at times.”

   “We’ll gladly take turns with you,” Joyce said, and Merrick nodded, still looking horrified.

   “I will not,” the other slayer said quietly. Kendra, that was her name. She’d been listening to the whole thing while staring at the table, barely moving.

   They all stared at her. “What?”

   Kendra glanced up. “It is the calling of the slayer to destroy the vampires,” she said. Her strong Jamaican accent was sharp, and Buffy winced at the bitterness in her voice. “I was drawn away too quickly, and still they live. The other slayer, my replacement. Where is she?”

   “Um... Faith’s still in prison, I think,” Buffy said. “We can check.”

   “But she is not out destroying the monsters,” Kendra said. “Someone must.”

   William wanted to defend Buffy’s right to stay in this plane if she wished, but he wasn’t sure it was his place. Kendra was a slayer, like Buffy. The sacred duty of the calling seemed  _ right _ to William. Kendra deserved to say her piece.

   Buffy was perfectly able to stand up for herself, in any case. “I’m dead, Kendra. I shouldn’t have been brought back the first time, according to fate. I died, and you were called. You died, and Faith was. There shouldn’t have been two of us at the same time in the first place. I shouldn’t be dragged back there now. I’m... I’m  _ home _ here. I have my family, I’m finally able to rest.”

   “And I stay here without my family, because I never knew any of them,” Kendra said. “I stay here alone, because it was my calling to save the earth and her people. And it was  _ your _ sire that pulled me from that calling,” she said, glaring at William.

   William shook his head. Kendra clearly did not understand. “Drusilla... you must have met–”

   “Seen the broken spirit beg forgiveness at my death side?” Kendra cut him off. “Aye. But she is still of the one who cheated me of my destiny. And I see she murdered you as well. What was your life to be, English? Who has that?”

   William swallowed. A demon had that. A blond haired, leather clad, murderous demon, who apparently had fallen in love with the same slayer whose existence was slowly melting William’s frozen soul....

   The other slayer glared at Buffy. “You live a life of television and gossip and friendship and love, and you complain of your calling. And now you complain because fate is drawing you back to it? Tell your friends they are wanting the wrong slayer, maybe. But do not complain because you do not want your life.”

   “Kendra–”

   Kendra stood up. “ _ I _ wanted your life,” she said. “I wanted your life, and what I received was my own death.”

   Buffy stood up with her, defiant. “Death is our gift.”

   “Death is  _ your _ gift,” Kendra snapped. “Loss was mine. I give up my family, my life, my self, and what am I left with? A footnote, and a few fledglings to my name. And you,” she turned to Merrick. “If your watcher training was so excellent, that you must steal young girls from their homes, why was  _ she _ the one who lived?”

   Merrick looked a little at a loss. “I did not design the slayer training program–”

   “For your information, Kendra, I only lived because  _ he _ died,” Buffy said, not allowing Merrick to apologize for anything. She put her hand on Merrick’s shoulder and stood behind him. “No other reason but his training and his sacrifice.”

   “And my sacrifice?” Kendra asked. “From my life to my death, it was all sacrifice. Did you think of that?” She shook her head. “No. You were out playing games with your vampire boyfriend, leaving me to face his mad progeny.”

   William rather thought Kendra had a point. Evil Drusilla (as even some of the aspects he knew were evil) was hypnotic and utterly terrifying. If Kendra was slain by Spike’s mad consort, William didn’t blame her for being a little wary of focusing any of her energies toward earth. He hadn’t looked down much in over a century, after all. It made sense to him that Kendra might not want to.

   Buffy stood stiffly, forcing herself into some kind of control. “Kendra, I’m sorry. If I could have been there instead of you–”

   “You would have died at the hands of the mad one?” she asked. “No. I saw you fight. Saw you walk arm in arm with this one’s demon.” She gestured to William with annoyance. “You walk with the demons, and so they accept you. I was taught to kill them. If you had let me kill your Angel, I might still be walking the earth today.”

   “And maybe when the monks made you the Guardian of the Key you’d have just let her die,” Buffy snapped.

   “Maybe I’d have killed her myself,” Kendra said. “Or maybe I’d be dead now, still. But what happens with you, Buffy, here or on earth, is not my calling. My service is complete. If death is my gift, then I have earned my peace.” She came up to Buffy and stiffly took her arms, almost a hug, but it wasn’t quite. It was an acknowledgment of kinship, but nothing more. “If death is my gift,” she began.

   “Then it’s been given,” Buffy said. “I understand.” The two slayer’s souls stared at each other for a long moment. Tiny half smiles touched both their lips, and Kendra nodded her respect. Buffy nodded hers, and stepped back.

   Kendra left. Buffy stared at the slowly misting front door and sighed. “I’m never gonna see her again, am I.”

   William touched her hand. A lost friend – or an estranged sister slayer – had to be a painful blow.

   Buffy sighed, and looked over at Merrick. “She’s got a point, though. The watchers made her life crappy even  _ before _ she died.”

   “The goal is to teach the potentials enough before they are called so they need not go through your... trial by fire,” Merrick said. “Which–”

   “Is what got you killed, I know,” Buffy said. She kissed Merrick’s forehead as if he were her watcher Giles – which he wasn’t, so he was very taken aback. “She still should have been given more than one stupid shirt.” She turned back to the table. “So. That leaves just the four of us.”

   “So... what exactly are we trying to do?” Joyce asked.

   “William?” Buffy said. “You’ve been here the longest. What’s the deal?”

   William sketched out their plan to the best of his ability. To watch Buffy’s friends below. To influence them in the best way they each knew how. Take turns when the soul grew weary, so there was always someone watching, so no event would catch them unaware. Buffy grunted. “I’m kicking myself for not guessing sooner that something was up with Willow,” she said. “She wasn’t grieving. It didn’t seem right.”

   “There was nothing you could have done,” Joyce said gently.

   “There was something Spike could have done,” Buffy said. “He was hearing me like...  _ perfectly _ that first day. If he hadn’t been such a damn gentleman he might have seen the cuts Willow made on my corpse, and then he’d have known something was up. He might have stopped her.”

   “Are you certain of that?” William asked.

   “Yes.”

   William wasn’t so sure. He knew that beast had created hundreds of minions in his time – many of the souls William had greeted remembered tasting the blood before death had taken them. What was so different from creating more demons, and raising a slayer back from the dead? The idea that that creature had loved... even  _ could _ love, let alone love a woman of such goodness and purity as Buffy... it shook William to the core of his soul.

   Buffy said she was going to take the first shift, and settled down before her television box, with Joyce. Under ordinary circumstances, William would have simply left – no goodbyes, because why, when everyone was always still right there. But things felt different to him now. He glanced at Buffy, settled into her sofa, her mother beside her. He wanted to talk more with her... but the happenings on earth were more important, he knew they were. He wasn’t used to there being any kind of urgency, apart from the arrivals he was summoned to.

   He meant to go home. He intended to go home, rest, wait until Buffy needed him again. But the answering machine had a blinking light on it, unheard message. He didn’t feel he had the right to listen to any of the private messages of Buffy’s friends. They were not his friends, after all. But Spike... in a way, Spike was his more than he was Buffy’s.

   William debated it for a long moment.  _ Maybe it simply won’t work, _ he said to himself, and pulled out his notebook. That would be god telling him it wasn’t any of his business. He wasn’t a strongly religious person, though his mother had been. Even here in this place which was not-hell, he had seen no clear sign of a benevolent deity, but  _ something _ controlled the arrivals. Something arranged for only the just and good to be here, something arranged for the friends and loved ones of the deceased to be called. Something, somewhere, had decided his soul had to bear witness to all the death Spike had caused. Bear witness, but not the blame. Buffy wasn’t his... but Spike, in a strange and perverted way, was.

   William laid his book on Buffy’s message machine for a moment, and whispered, “Only Spike, please, if I’ve any right at all. I’m only interested in the messages from Spike.” A moment later he lifted the book.

   The  _ unheard message _ light no longer blinked.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

   There were over a hundred little scenarios in the messages Spike had sent to Buffy. Pages and pages of saving her, over and over again. They were astounding. Desperate. Heroic. Trying to bring to terms William’s own image of the creature with what was being depicted in this book was nearly impossible. William could hardly fathom it. Spike desperately wished he had saved the slayer. His own life, his own pain, his own desires, none of them entered into it. Some of his thoughts, though... they could be horrid. This last one...

   William flipped the book back open and read the last passage again.

_    I sink my teeth in, and the chip fires, but I don’t even care. I just scream through my teeth and clamp down, and the blood rises. You’re struggling, ‘cause you don’t understand, and you bruise me so bad I groan with it. But I hold you so tight... so tight. Never gonna let you get away, slayer. And the blood inside you tastes so damn good. I know how good you’d taste. The scent of you. Oh, god, the scent of you. I miss that every day... and I suck and I suck, and the blood pours over my tongue, and I try... I try really hard to make it gentle, even though I don’t have much time. I try to make you feel... to make it feel... like this was how it was supposed to be. Me and you. Vampire and slayer, together at last. I make it gentle even through the searing pain, and I take as much as I can. Until your heart starts to slow down a bit... and then I let go. God, it would be so bloody hard to let go... and so easy, too. ‘Cause I’m not gonna let you die, slayer. Not now, not ever. And you sink down, ‘cause I’ve put you out. ‘Cause I was being gentle and all. And I tell Dawn.... she’s just in shock, you know? I tell her... I tell her to get you a blood transfusion, though... though you should be fine even without it. And I kiss Dawn on the forehead, and I turn back to the portal, and Dawn screams at me no, but I know better. And then I jump. No... no. I fly. All full of your blood, ready to stop flowing and shut down the gate. I fly out to greet hell, just as I should have years ago. I greet hell happy... ‘cause I saved you. _

   William put the book down. He was no nearer to deciding whether or not Spike would want to bring Buffy back from the dead. But he was no longer of the opinion that there was nothing in him but evil.

   William had not been engaging much in daily life until recently. Much like his mother, he’d been trying to fade into the background, though the constant arrivals had prevented much dissipation. Being called in to witness the arrival of newborns at least once a week for more than a century had kept William fairly solid and concrete, so home was still home, and he was still himself. But he decided to be hungry, so he went down to the parlor and rang the bell for tea.

   Tea would appear on a tray in the hall – as there were no actual servants to fetch it – so he just went out to get it and brought it in. More watercress sandwiches, and some Queen Anne cakes (he’d always loved getting those for his mother.) He took a bite of cake, enjoying the currants, and he knew his mother was watching him.

   “Yes, I know,” he said. “It’s a waste of time, but I have to fill it somehow.”

   His mother didn’t disapprove, but she seemed amused.

   “Please stop,” William said.

   She didn’t want to.

   “You’re reading too much into it,” he told her. “I’m simply filling the time until...” he trailed off.

_   Until she needs you again. _

   “I’m resting,” he said. “Helping her... it’s the least I can do.”

   Anne knew how he felt. He wasn’t hiding it at all well.

   “It’s all moot in any case,” William said. “I wouldn’t presume. She’s a heroine... a creature of legend. It would be madness to go chasing a Diana across the moon-drenched fields. Besides, she loves another.”

   Anne was even more amused by that idea. From what William had told her, Buffy loved a monster who hadn’t even shed a tear for her.

   “Liam was no saint, but he tended to mean well,” William said. “He was just as contrite at the arrivals as I was.”

   Liam hadn’t been very good with those who needed support beyond an apology – such as those without family or other loved ones – but he was always very sorry for the death itself. By contrast, William had always felt it his duty to find succor and peaceful companions for everyone whose arrival he was called to. Had Kendra, for example, been Spike’s victim, William would have searched for distant family members who weren’t close but would gladly accept a distant relative as a companion, or lacking that, other lonely souls with similar affections or interests with whom the lone slayer could have associated.

   Drusilla was even more solicitous, though she used her knowledge of the future to determine her arrival’s best outcomes. Kendra, apparently, was content alone, and fading quickly. Associating with Buffy or others would have slowed her own peaceful dissolution, so her refusal to help watch for Buffy made sense.

   “And he’s not even Liam any longer,” William added. “He’s called  _ Angel. _ Drusilla saw him as Buffy knew him. He’s a tormented hero out of a storybook, with the strength of a titan and the tortured chivalry of a knight errant. The man’s gone and become a blasted Hercules. More than worthy of her.”

   Hercules, his mother pointed out, murdered his own family, and had to atone for his sins. And Liam would never have been worthy of such a righteous woman. She had no idea what could have brought Liam and Buffy together unless it was some kind of interference from outside sources. What could they possibly have had in common?

   “What can Buffy and  _ I _ have in common?” William countered.

   More than she and Liam, most assuredly.

   “We come from different worlds, different eras. She was a heroine, and I was.... I lived a very small life, Mother. Drusilla at least shares my curse, and you’ve never told me to pursue her.”

   He already had Drusilla, and she had never been enough. The demon version wasn’t enough for Spike either, apparently. She was too shattered to be a proper companion to any, for all the good William had done for her. But it wasn’t about that, in any case. Bonds and affection had little to do with how alike people were – it had to do with who you were when you were with them.

   And apart from all that, Liam was on earth, while William was here with Buffy. And hadn’t the girl herself said that her affection had waned without her body to hang the lust upon? No, what the slayer had was a memory, and now she was a soul without flesh to cloud her. And when soul met soul, there were no deceptions and no confusion – Liam had always been a master of deception, even at his best. William’s mother remembered William complaining of the man he had to share those arrivals with. And besides – William needed someone.

   “I  _ have _ someone,” he said, as he always did whenever his mother said that.

   Anne was unimpressed by the line, as she always was. He needed a companion, not a mother. Buffy was excellent for him.

   “I may not be excellent for  _ her _ ,” he said. “I’m not reaching for a companion, Mum. I’m only trying to help her. That’s all.”

   He could help her, of course he could. But there was more to it than that. His mother could tell how he felt. He wanted to be close to her –

   “There’s no chance of that.”

   None? That couldn’t be true. There would be indications that she was tired of his company if that were the case. William frowned. This was true – the quiet awareness of whether Buffy was free or interested in seeing him would also have told him if she wanted to be alone. He was fixated on her degree of receptivity. If it wasn’t any more intrusive to her than looking across a busy street to see if she had her windows open, it would have bordered on dangerously obsessive. As it was... William didn’t really have much else to engage his mind.

   His mother was sorry about that.

   “No, Mum, you mustn’t blame yourself. It is what it is. I know no one even wishes to stay on this plane forever. You needn’t force yourself.”

   Anne didn’t even try to relay any feelings, but they both knew it – she was doing it to him again. Slowly fading away and leaving William here, behind. It wasn’t coughing and blood and pain. It was gentle and peaceful and Anne longed for it. If it wasn’t for the fact that William was stuck here, bound to the demon’s life-force, Anne would have gone on long before. As always William told her, wordlessly, that it was all right if she really had to go. And as always, Anne dismissed the notion without a word. She was here for him. Until the end. Whenever that was.

   William could never decide if he felt gratitude or guilt.

_ But you need a companion, _ his mother told him decisively.

   “And you feel it should be Miss Summers?” William asked with a smile.

   Who else had ever made his soul shine like this? Anne had never seen William so animated, so alive. It was beautiful to see. Had Buffy yet turned him away?

   “No,” he said. “But she isn’t... she finds me lacking. Even now that she needs my help. I can see it. She looks at me, and... she’s not looking at me.” William lightly touched the book in his pocket.

   Anne saw right through him. The demon?

   William closed his eyes and sighed. “She loathes him,” he said. “But there is a bond... a bond of rivals, perhaps. She uses the phrase ‘ _ mortal enemies _ ’ as if it were ‘ _ affianced _ ’.” He shook his head. “She sees in me only a shadow of him.”

   Why was that? What about him drew her, then?

   William couldn’t fathom it. “He loves her,” he whispered.

   His mother did not seem wholly surprised, which annoyed William more than anything else. While his mother was discreet about her interest, William had gathered she was still keeping tabs on Spike. They’d fallen into a pattern of neither asking nor telling what they knew about the demon; neither his murders nor his more mundane routines made any kind of conversation between them. William did not discuss the arrivals; his mother did not admit that she watched the creature regularly. In true Victorian fashion, they always found a more pleasing topic to discuss. But Spike was looming large between them now, and had ever since William had been called to the arrival of Buffy Summers.

   Was that what drew Buffy? Spike’s love for her?

   “No,” William said. “I believe that frightens her, in fact. She doesn’t really want to listen to his declarations of affection.” He stared into his teacup. “She  _ wants _ to want to kill him,” he realized. “And she doesn’t.”

   And then Anne asked the question. “Do you wish she had?”

   William looked up. Anne was on her settee, very prim and proper and kindly. She almost never came together like this these days, save for that once, for Buffy’s sake. William gazed upon her. She never made herself young. She never made herself hale. She saw herself as an older woman, hobbling with a cane, uninterested in the world outside her little space, except as related to her son. Anne had given her life – literally, in fact – to her son. William wished he’d had the chance for that. To give himself to anyone, apart from his mother. He hadn’t. Dru was too scattered to endure him for long, no matter how much certain parts of her soul cared for his. There was none other who had desired him.

   “I don’t know,” William confessed. “If she had slain him, I’d be free.”

   “But?”

   He swallowed. “But then I would never have known her.” He considered this for a long moment, and then buried his face in his hand. “I’m a ruin, aren’t I,” he muttered. “I’ll be shattered as Dru before this is over.”

   But Anne was already gone away again. William was left with only one brief impression before she faded from his awareness completely.  _ You already were. _


	9. Chapter 9

 

   It seemed so simple. Influence everyone you could, in whatever way you could. Talk to Xander and Tara and even Anya. Try to keep Giles from leaving Sunnydale. Try to get Dawn to ask questions. Try to drag Spike out of the bottle to pay attention, particularly to Willow. Buffy truly did feel as if Spike were her best option there. William still wasn’t so sure. They’d all been watching, in tag-team shifts, for what Buffy saw as three days. William and Buffy. William and Joyce. Joyce and Merrick. Joyce and Buffy. Buffy and Merrick. Over and over and over again, watching, calling, influencing, though somehow Merrick and William never managed to end up on the same shift.

   When Buffy had asked Merrick about it, he said it had seemed strange. “He was a demon, Buffy.”

   “No, he wasn’t,” Buffy had insisted. “He was a victim.”

   “But the only reason you know him is because you knew the demon.”

   Buffy opened her mouth, and then decided against explaining about Angel, or Anya, or Oz, or Giles’s old friends. Giles was strange for a watcher, Buffy had realized, the old Ripper giving him an acceptance of the supernatural and the once-evil that most watchers simply didn’t have. After Faith’s betrayal, and now Kendra’s... abandonment? It wasn’t really any “betraying” there, though their original friendship had sort of been demolished. But after all that, Buffy was fairly certain that the tried and true Watcher wasn’t going to understand that some demons... just didn’t need to be destroyed. And for all his evil, Spike was more than one of the faceless hordes of slayer-foes.

   Even without the chip, Buffy would have found it really hard to simply wash her hands of Spike. He’d helped her too many times, both chipped and not, saved too many people, sacrificed too much. And William... William was definitely becoming more than just a friend. “If it makes you feel any better, William has the same opinion of Spike as you do,” Buffy said.

   And still the watcher and the victim never shared a shift. Buffy eventually got to the point where she just didn’t ask Merrick to help influence Spike. She had Merrick on day shift, with Joyce, watching the Scoobies, particularly Dawn, Xander, and Giles. Merrick worked on Giles almost exclusively. “Pay attention,” he kept saying. He actually seemed to be getting somewhere with the watcher. He was nowhere near discovering Willow’s plan, but every time Giles settled down to get a plane ticket back to England, Merrick would convince him there was something else he had to do, and the ticket simply never got bought.

   Joyce worked a lot on Dawn. She wasn’t able to get Dawn to discover what was going on, either, but she frequently persuaded Dawn to get needy whenever Willow was studying her magic. Then Tara could be persuaded to make Willow stop for a while, to play a game with their young charge, or go out for pizza, or do something – anything – other than forward her plan for Buffy’s resurrection. Joyce found her influence over Xander so limited as to be non-existent, and every time she seemed to be getting somewhere with him, he ran off with Anya and things went staticky. She found it kind of unnerving.

   “If it helps,” Buffy told her, “I think they’re doing that all the time, anyway.” But she agreed to take over talking to Xander. He seemed to hear Buffy best when he was working, actually, all the mindless carpentry leaving his head a blank she could get through. He’d mutter quietly in response to things, but every time she tried to talk about Willow’s plan, he’d just say, “She must know what she’s doing...” or something along those lines.

   Xander had just muttered, “But we need you,” to himself as William had come in, and Buffy had thrown down the remote in annoyance.

   “No good?”

   “No good. Xander trusts Willow too much. I was about to start on Spike again.” It was early afternoon. He was usually up around that time, still watching Passions. He had a very eclectic sleep schedule, when the vampire could sleep at all.

   “Should I go?”

   Buffy glanced at him. “Why?”

   “So you can speak with Spike.”

   William had been very odd about Spike ever since finding out about his feelings. “No,” Buffy said. She grabbed William’s hand and dragged him down to the couch. She wished he wasn’t so prim and proper and Victorian all the time. If he’d been Xander she’d have nestled against him and propped her feet up on the table while she munched on popcorn or something – oh. Popcorn happened to be on the table anyway, as she considered it.

   “I thought you might not want...” William swallowed.

   “Spike and I weren’t dating or anything, you know that, right?” Buffy said.

   “Yes. But whatever it is between you... I....”

   “What?”

   “Don’t want to... get in the way.”

   “William... _you’re_ what’s between me and Spike, you realize that, right?”

   “What do you mean?”

   “I don’t know.” Buffy shook her head. “This thing about demons, and souls. If he was like Angel, I mean... if _you_ were in there... I don’t know what would have been between us. I guess it might depend on what he would be like then.”

   William shuddered. “I can’t even imagine.”

   “But the demon part of him kills people and wants to murder me,” Buffy said. “It’s the human in him that makes him want to help Dawn and warn me about danger and help the Scoobies. And that’s all you. Or the echo of you. You know?”

   William regarded her. “What was your dynamic?” he asked earnestly. “Friends, enemies... you’d kissed.”

   “Enemies, allies... it depended on the day. He was a vampire, William, I was a slayer. I broke his nose a lot.”

   William chuckled.

   “See? I broke his nose, he’d threaten to kill me, we’d come up with some deal to stop the end of the world, and then he’d steal stuff out of my basement. It wasn’t fluffy romantic bunnies.”

   “But it was more than animosity.”

   “There was plenty of that, too.” Buffy slid her hand into William’s. “You don’t need to leave me my privacy while I talk to Spike. Intimacy with us mostly involved chaining each other up and a lot of heated death threats.” Which sounded kinda kinky, now that Buffy put it that way, but that idea seemed wholly lost on William.

   “How did it turn to anything other than rivalry?”

   “I needed his help, and he was helpful,” Buffy said. “I knew what I could and couldn’t trust him to do.”

   “Kill.”

   “And protect,” Buffy said. “My mom, myself, Dawn... to a lesser extent my friends. He’d fight to protect them. I knew that.”

   “You were sure?”

   “He’d protected Drusilla before the chip. He transferred that impulse to me. I’d seen it. I believed it.”

   “But it wasn’t love on your part.”

   Buffy didn’t answer quickly. This inability to lie thing had made her very careful about what she tried to just blurt out. Had she loved Spike? She wanted to be sure of the answer. “No,” she said carefully. “I didn’t love him. But... I felt... a connection... to him. We were allies.”

   “How did he come to love you?”

   “Well, I think part of it’s because he wanted to kill me, and the chip kept him from it. But... I don’t know. There was something between us from the first.”

   “What?”

   “Like I said. I think it was you,” Buffy said. “There’s more humanity in Spike than I’ve seen in any other vampire – except maybe Angel. And even Angel, he needed the soul to access it. Vampires tend to drain most of the humanity out. Spike... rode his like a surfer on an ocean. Angel always said he was a romantic.”

   “Well. I always was,” William confessed. “Did you actually see me in him?”

   “More than I do in you most of the time,” Buffy said. She wished she knew how much of William’s behavior was himself, and how much Victorian conditioning.

   “What do you mean?”

   “It’s like you only barely let yourself show through all the rules,” Buffy said. “Spike’s got all this evil to swim through, but he’s himself in it.”

   “Are you saying he’s more me than I am?”

   “I...” Buffy realized that was kind of insulting. “I don’t know. You really do follow all those... Victorian rules really rigidly, you know? It can be hard to see your personality through them, that’s all.”

   William had an odd look on his face.

   “What?” Buffy asked.

   “Have you any idea how wretched I was at keeping to all those Victorian rules you’re referring?”

   Buffy looked at William with his stiff starched collar and his pristine accent and his straight back on her comfy modern sofa and she raised her eyebrows. “You’re kidding.”

   William smiled. “You’ve no idea how many there were,” he said. “Or how very many aspects of life they constrained. I was an abysmal member of Victorian society.”

   “What are you talking about?” Buffy asked. “You look like a perfect posh Victorian gentleman to me.”

   “I started off on the wrong foot from birth,” he said. “Or shall I say the wrong hand.”

   “What?”

   William held up his left hand and waved it. “I’m left handed,” he confessed, as if it were something somewhat shameful.

   “Yeah, Spike’s a southpaw. What about it?”

   William laughed. “Southpaw?”

   “A lefty. Makes him hard to fight.”

   “It didn’t stop my nurses,” he said. “I was beaten more times for using my left hand than I was for fighting.”

   Buffy found this fascinating. “You were a fighter?”

   “I was expelled from primary school for it,” William said. “Twice. After that my mother just kept me home until Eton. That was all but unheard of.”

   “You were expelled from school? You?”

   “Indeed,” William said. He seemed ashamed of that as well.

   Buffy couldn’t help but think of Principal Snyder and what he would have said dealing with a young and unruly Spike in his high school. “How old were you?”

   “Once when I was eight, and again at ten. I fought a great deal in my very early days. Fighting was forbidden, but it happened often in secret. Usually we weren’t caught. The first time I was expelled for it I was mostly defending myself. I was a first year, and I was small, not robust. But I broke a boy’s collarbone after he and his fellows dropped my slate in a puddle. I lost all the work I had done, and... well I knew I’d be caned for that, whatever I did, so I fought back hard that time. It cost me my reputation. I was sent back to Mother in disgrace. She had to send me to a different school.”

   “And the same thing happened there?”

   “Not precisely. I had... learned better.”

   “What does that mean?”

   “I learned to allow the older boys to take and do what they wanted to me without starting a row,” William said. “But the second time... the second time I was defending first years. But when the row was broken up, the headmaster blamed the younger boys for being beaten, and that got my blood up. I – well, I’m afraid I attacked the headmaster.”

   Buffy grinned. Ten-year-old Spike – no, William – losing his temper at an injustice and attacking an all-powerful foe twice his size... she could certainly see it. “And you were expelled again?”

   “Not until after the headmaster–” he stopped. “Essentially.”

   “Until after the headmaster what?” Buffy pressed.

   William looked down. “The headmaster had beaten me so hard in punishment I contracted a fever. They sent me home and told my mother I was not to be permitted to return.”

   “That’s... that’s terrible.”

   “It was a very common punishment at the time,” William said. “Canings, beatings, hand straps. I had my ears boxed and my hair pulled, and if I tried to pull away, they only beat harder, or more often.”

   “My god, were you in some school for juvenile delinquents?” Buffy asked.

   “Oh, no. Proper gentleman’s sons.”

   “But they beat you? You, this...” she gestured to William’s gentle and unassuming form. This sweet sensitive thing, they had decided to beat him? “What were these canes like?”

   “Oh, rattan or birch. Half an inch or so wide. Often it was kept in a pail of water, so it would be pliable, and strike more–”

   “Stop!” Buffy knew all about weaponry. It was something she wouldn’t have done to a demon let alone a sensitive little boy. No wonder Spike was so angry!

   “I was breaking the rules, Buffy,” William said. “It was my own fault. If they hadn’t strapped my hand when they saw me using the wrong one, if they hadn’t caned my backside raw, they’d have been considered far too lenient.”

   Buffy found herself searching William’s blue eyes for resentment, and found none. But she couldn’t imagine there wasn’t pain. But it was like Buffy’s pain over Angel – it was far away, and it didn’t hurt here in heaven. “And they hit you so hard you couldn’t go back?”

   William shrugged. “Mother kept me home until Eton. I was a bit late getting in that first year, actually. Mother was ill, and kept me home until after Christmas. I was already almost fourteen. That made fitting in difficult, let me tell you. I didn’t have the luxury of having been fagged properly, so I was mostly everyone’s fag that year.”

   “Wait, a _what?_ Fag?” Buffy didn’t like the sound of that.

   “Indeed. The boys were assigned to be the fag of an older boy, to run errands, clean his gear, etcetera. He could be punished if he did not perform those duties properly. Birched, for instance.”

   “Birched?”

   “A collection of sticks,” William said. “Like the caning, only they had us – um…. Well.”

   He seemed embarrassed. “William... what?”

   “To be struck with the birch it was always on bare skin,” he said discreetly. “And often by the older boys, if not by a master.”

   “Bare... skin?”

   “Bent over a chair, or a desk, or the whipping horse. Or just told to grab your ankles and stand still.”

   It sounded oddly sexual. To be assigned to an older boy at the age of thirteen, made to pull your pants down and be whipped as punishment, and god alone knew what the word fag implied in that scenario. It sounded ripe for other kinds of exploitation and abuse. Buffy suddenly wanted to cuddle William, and promise him the ordeal was over. He knew that, of course. It had been over for generations. “And that was Eton?”

   “Yes. Then came Cambridge. Then home again. Fortunately I was a gentleman, if not an extremely wealthy one, so I did not have to search out employment beyond my poetry. Which was, to be frank, not a profession. Merely something to occupy me.”

   “But you’d learned all the rules by then,” Buffy said.

   “I did not follow them well,” William said. “I would fall into my writing – which I persisted in performing with my left hand, as my writing was faster that way – and forget to sit straight in public parties. I would... oh, Buffy. I’d speak to my host’s servants, forgetting both my place, and theirs. I was just searching for a word, but... anyone who was nearby. I was vocal in my feelings. I admitted I had them – that was improper. It was a wonder I was permitted in polite society at all. Mostly I think they took me on as the dunce, to laugh at my blunders. You cannot imagine the rules one was to follow on a regular basis.”

   “Like what?”

   William rolled his eyes – he’d picked the habit up from Buffy, it seemed. “Do not stay for less than ten, or more than thirty minutes when paying a formal call. But do not look upon your watch, either. Do not walk about the room when waiting for the hostess. Remain standing if there are any women who are also standing, and sit if they are sitting. Do not stare about the room, or touch any item within the room unless it is handed to you to examine. Do not remain sitting when someone hands you something. Do not sit too close to the hostess, unless she indicates you should.”

   Buffy blinked. “You had to remember all this?”

   “Oh, and more,” William said, breaking two of his rules by standing up, and pacing the floor. “Always govern yourself, and show gentleness and patience. Never speak, or act, in anger. Speak with a gentle tone of voice at all times. Learn to say kindly and pleasant things when the opportunity arises. Learn to deny yourself, and show modesty. Never make an ostentatious display of wealth, but do not act miserly.”

   He was gesturing now – mostly with his left hand – and the sarcasm was thick in his voice. “Do not neglect to bow when acknowledged in public. To cut another person in such a way is extremely rude. In bowing, the head should be bent. To merely lower the eyelids is considered rude. Etiquette does not permit a familiar nod, except between businessmen, or very intimate friends. And what passes for an intimate friend, my dear Buffy, varied depending on which circle that friendship traveled in. In passing or repassing an acquaintance in a public drive or promenade, bows were to be exchanged only at the first meeting. You must always pass to the right upon the sidewalk. No gentleman shall smoke when walking with or standing in the presence of a lady standing in the street.” Buffy burst out laughing at that one, remembering Spike pointedly lighting up a cigarette – which he didn’t even finish – when he offered her that truce with Acathla.

   William realized he was being rude and stopped his agitated pacing. “And never enter a room without an invitation,” he finished.

   “Well, Spike’s still following that one!” Buffy said with a grin. “That’s quite a list to remember.”

   “And that’s not even touching on the rules for church, or tea, or a formal dinner, and god help you if you need learn the titles of various noble rank. I’m not constrained by the rules, Buffy. I could barely keep to half of them.”

   “And when Spike became a vampire, he threw away all of them,” Buffy said. She glanced at the television. She had already switched it to view Spike, who sat sprawled in his chair like a puppet with its strings cut, watching Passions. She looked from relaxed Spike to prim William, and felt like somewhere between the two of them, something was broken. Buffy just wasn’t sure what. “I guess... he must have always wanted to.”

   “I always did. I broke rules better than I could keep them.” He swallowed. “Even some....” He quietly sat down beside her and placed a book on Buffy’s knee. “I’m afraid I read them,” he said, with an air of confession. “I know they were for you, but I read every one of them. I’m sorry.”

   Buffy opened to a random page. _I saved you._ She didn’t even have to keep reading. She flipped the pages. Page after page of _I saved you, I saved you_.

   “Some of these got a little dark, you know,” she said, tossing the book lightly onto the coffee table.

   “And quite a number of them shamelessly erotic,” William said. “I don’t know if I had any right to them, but...”

   “Of course you did,” Buffy said. “He’s your demon, it’s your body. If you’d asked, I’d have given you the tapes.”

   “I should have asked,” William said. “I realize that.”

   “He usually sounds pretty drunk,” Buffy said. Spike was steadily drinking now, dutifully, as if the bourbon in his bottle was medicinal. “What did you think of them?”

   William hesitated a long moment. “When I was a boy,” he said finally. “When I was still alive, I used to lie in bed at night and think about things. I used to imagine how I’d have saved my father. How I’d... just know he was ill, and I’d run and fetch a doctor, or give him a brandy – as if that would keep his heart from going out. And my mother... I’d spend hours imagining myself with a magical elixir that could cure her illness, or some new scientific procedure. Like a new modern Prometheus. A Dr. Frankenstein, and death would have no hold over her.”

   He shook his head. “I read these stories of his over, twice, some of them more. He hasn’t changed. Still prays himself into the role of the hero. And I realized as I read... I’d have killed my mother, too.”

   Buffy regarded him.

   “I’d always hated him for that. For going to murder my family, like he murdered my friends. To kill the only thing I truly loved. I thought he did it out of hatred for me, for what he’d been.” He shook his head. “It’s what I would have done,” he said. “Come with the magical spell to take her with me to immortality....” He laughed. “I suppose he did do that for me, in a way. She’s here now, after all. For so long now that we’re back to where we were. As she leaves me behind, little by little, day by day.”

   Buffy squeezed his hand.

   “I don’t fear it this time, though it echoes life. But I do fear.... I think on you too often,” he confessed. “It frightens me. I didn’t think we could feel fear here. But I can. You’ve given me love, and joy, and hope. And I fear both your staying, and your leaving here.”

   Buffy knew she should ask why he was frightened of her staying, but she couldn’t. She was too frightened herself. “I am not going to leave here,” Buffy said. “Do you hear me, Spike?” she said to the television. “Willow wants to rip me out of heaven! I don’t want to go!” The demon on the screen made no indication that her message was getting through. Then she looked back at William. “Tell me we can stop it?”

   William only stared at her. “May I embrace you?” he finally asked.

   “Oh, please,” Buffy whispered. She fell against his chest and... well, it felt like nothing physical, but she also felt held. The meaning was there, if not the physicality.

   “We’ll stop it, pet, if we can,” William promised. “We’ll make him hear. We’ll make it stop.”

   Buffy caught the caveat, _if we can._ But that was understandable. He couldn’t lie, after all. The problem was, it didn’t stop the fear.

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

   “I like him,” Celia said.

   Buffy looked up at her from over her teacup. They were sitting at the children’s table, sipping pretend tea. Pretend tea tasted like flowers and magic, and Buffy could drink it all day. She looked from Celia, to William, who had just excused himself from the children’s tea table to help facilitate a meeting between Joyce and Anne. Anne had surprised everyone by coming, and William gave the impression that she wouldn’t be there long. She and Joyce were speaking with charmed politeness on the sofa.

   Celia reached out for a Queen cake; William had supplied them when he’d found the “young lady was holding a tea.” He’d instantly abandoned the courtesies of the rest of the party and directed his attention to Buffy’s young cousin. Buffy had joined them when she saw them in perfect Victorian politeness at the frilly pink tea table. It had been pleasant. Buffy had sort of held this party as a distraction from the other one, going on on the distant television.

   It was Dawn’s birthday.

   In heaven all of Buffy’s deceased friends and family were milling about and talking and smiling and laughing. On Earth, Dawn was in their living room, trying not to cry. Everything that had happened that day seemed to be a reminder that Joyce and Buffy were gone. Buffy had been getting messages from her for two days, as her earthly family mourned. She shouldn’t have a birthday if Buffy wasn’t going to be there. It wasn’t really her birthday anyway. Joyce always woke her with an early present – it wasn’t going to be the same without Joyce. So the Scoobies were planning a party – she didn’t want a party. She wanted a better party. What was the point of a party when everything was terrible? Contradictions and longing and excitement and grief. Buffy hadn’t been able to take her own confusion. She wanted to help Dawn and be with her, but she was so happy here, and that made her feel guilty.

   She’d finally said, “You want me at your party, I’ll be there. Your party spills all the way into heaven!”

   It had seemed to help when she told Dawn she was going to do it that way. She wasn’t sure it was helping Dawn now.

   “You mean William?” Buffy asked.

   “Yeah, him,” Celia said. “Who’s Dawn playing with?”

   Buffy glanced at the television, and then stood up with annoyance. “Spike! Dawn is turning fifteen years old, she doesn’t need bourbon!”

   “That’s enough, love,” said the demon on the screen. “Just a sip.”

   “It tastes like fire!” Dawn complained. Spike had slid Dawn into the kitchen and slipped her his flask. “A gas fire! Gah! Ugh! How can you drink this stuff?”

   Spike took the flask back and demonstrated, and Buffy threw up her hands. “Honestly, Spike, grow up!”

   She turned away from the television to find the entire room of heavenly ghosts staring at her in bewilderment. Then they shrugged and turned back to their socializing. Maybe, Buffy realized, throwing a party with the remnants of her demon-tainted life chattering in the background had been a mistake. Not that anything really mattered in heaven – heavenly ghosts didn’t seem to pass judgement much – but it was very different being dead from being a slayer.

   And Dawn, for all she was alive and without powers, was more slayer than human. Her past wasn’t real, her guardians were witches, she lived on a hellmouth, and her best friend was a vampire. No one up here but Joyce seemed to know what to make of her.

   William didn’t seem to have a problem, though. He made his excuses to the two mothers and approached the television. “Dawn,” he said quietly. No one but Buffy could hear him. “I know you miss her. Look at how strong and tall you’ve grown. You know she’s with you now.”

   Dawn wiped the tears from her eyes and stood straight, looking at her own reflection in the kitchen window. Either William’s words or Spike’s whiskey had had an effect. She looked ready to go back into the living room and have her cake.

   “Yeah, I like him, too,” Buffy whispered to herself.

   The party dissipated quickly after that, and eventually it was only Joyce and Buffy and Anne and William. Anne and Joyce had begun discussing Victorian art, and it had spilled over into literature. Buffy found the conversation a little beyond her ken, so she went into the hallway, where the message machine held a whole lot of messages.

   Dawn had been leaving them all day, mostly wish-you-were-here types. The Scoobies all had their commentary on how the girl had grown, or reminiscing about their implanted memories of Dawn’s last birthday – which had involved a Suparvo demon at the local pool. Buffy sat on the stairs and listened to each message dreamily, happily responding when someone seemed to want her to. It was pleasant and companionable.

   “Damn you!” said a new voice as the machine switched messages. “Damn you, damn you, damn you, damn you,  _ damn you! _ ”

   Well, that was Spike, sure enough.

   “I don’t want to do this anymore,” he said out of the machine. “You go diving off and leave me all alone with this crying little girl? What the hell am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to tell her to keep going because it’s what you’d want, when all I want to do is howl at the goddamn moon?” He seemed to be crying. “She asked me to turn her today,” he said then, and Buffy blinked. That she hadn’t known. It was important enough that she thought it should have shown up...

   But then, maybe it was private.

   “I think I scared her enough I talked her out of it,” he said. “I couldn’t believe she asked. She was all...  _ if I cut myself, if I bled out, you’d turn me, wouldn’t you? So that I wouldn’t die? _ I think... I think she was asking why I didn’t try to turn you.”

   He sniffed. “God, if I’d saved you like that. Where would we be right now? If you hadn’t turned on all your old Scoobies and gobbled them up? No... you wouldn’t be with me. Even if I’d sired you, would you. All the minion instincts in the world wouldn’t have affected  _ you. _ But god, you’d be a beautiful demon…. No. The only way you’d let me stay with you is as your follower. I’d have to bow at your feet,” he whispered.     

   “I could do that,” he went on. “I could bow at your wicked feet, fetch and carry for you, play your manservant. I’d be your dogsbody, your dog, even. I’d be your sodding slave.... But where the hell would you be?” He sighed. “Your soul would be looking on, brassed off as all hell, wouldn’t it? I wouldn’t be able to sleep with how loud you’d be yelling at me.” There was a long pause. “I miss you. God, pet. How the hell am I supposed to do this without you?”

   The message petered off, and Buffy looked up. William was standing in the doorway, watching her. Listening. “He sounds unhappy.”

   “Where’s Anne?”

   “Mother went home,” William said, not surprising Buffy, though she hadn’t seen the fine lady leave. No doubt she hadn’t needed a door. “Your demon sounds....” he trailed off and looked down.

   “Yeah,” Buffy said. “I think he’s a little out of his depth. I can’t believe he offered Dawn whiskey.” Of course, he could have offered to let her drink something else.... The thought horrified her. Was Dawn’s soul even human? She had no doubt the girl had one, but if she was dead, would she come up here to heaven, or would she remanifest as some kind of green energy? Well. Hopefully it was a question that wouldn’t be answered for eighty plus years!

   “What else was he meant to do?” William asked. “Alcohol is... a distraction if nothing else. It’s not as if death makes sense. If she was threatening to kill herself–”

   “But she wasn’t,” Buffy started, and then stopped.

   “We both know that’s what she was doing. I wonder how he frightened her?” He looked at the ceiling. “God, no, I don’t. Just tell the sodding truth. What it would be like to live... all that death... and every trace of humanity....” His voice sank to a whisper. “Tortured every moment.”

   “William….”

   William shook his head. “I don’t feel sorry for him,” he said. “Maybe I should, I don’t know. I’m too busy being terrified for myself.”

   “What do you mean?”

   He stared at her, his eyes so blue they almost glowed like a summer sky. “What if we fail, pet?” he asked. “What do you think it’s going to be like? I was dead, before you came. I was content enough with it. You’ve made me feel alive, and if that witch drags you away from here....” He shook his head. “I’m going to be just like him, aren’t I. Every day, every hour, every moment, missing you.” He came over to the stairs and sank onto them beside her. “I’m going to be just like him.”

   Buffy’s hand slid onto his. “What do you mean?”

   William looked right at her. “We’re failing, Buffy. You know we are. That witch is feeling her power, and she misses you. She has closed herself off from all reason. If her friends turn on her, if she has no support, if she begins to lose strength, she’ll still want to draw on the power. It’s the power itself, the act that’s drawing her. This feels benign to her, and that’s her excuse, but she doesn’t even want  _ you. _ It’s the power. The witch is lost to it, like Spike is lost to the blood. Even if everything around her screamed at her to stop, just as I screamed at him... she’d still reach for the power.” He looked back at the answering machine. “You’re going to be gone. We can’t stop it.” He shook his head. “I’m going to be just like him.”

   “I think you should stop listening to those,” Buffy said.

   William looked at her, and then shook his head. “I miss you already. I can already feel you gone. And I won’t be able to follow after...”

   “William...”

   “I’m sorry,” he said. “This is one of those breakable things, isn’t it.”

   Buffy regretted ever saying she’d have broken him. It was probably true, but... it was probably one of those truths she’d have been cool enough not to say if she’d had actual tongue and lips to slow the thought down. “No,” she said. “This is one of those passionate things. The things that make him strong.”

   “Strong,” he said. “You can hear him breaking without you. Imagine what I’ll be like?” He shook his head, looking away from her. “I never knew how barren I was, alone. How much I needed someone to love. Cecily wasn’t real, Mother was never mine, Drusilla wasn’t complete, but that need... that need was very real.” He rubbed at his face. “Will I break apart, like Drusilla, I wonder? You make me feel strong, Buffy. You give me strength, like that demon gave it to my body. Without you....”

   “Without me, you’ll still be you,” Buffy said. “And you won’t be  _ without _ me. You’d be able to watch me, on Earth. I mean... you’d know I was okay.”

   “But you won’t be, will you?” William said. “Ripped from here, taken from your mother, from your freedom, from...” He stopped, and looked away.

   “From you,” Buffy said. She was already dreading the idea.

   “I’m sure that won’t be the source of your grief,” William said. “But your mother...”

   Buffy glared at him. “If you were Spike, I’d hit you for that.”

   He blinked.

   “William,” Buffy grunted, frustrated, and grabbed his shirt to kiss him. As always, it was almost nothing. “Ugh! God! This  _ souls don’t have bodies so no sex _ thing totally sucks. It’s more than just hormones, dammit.” She kissed him again, as hard as she could. “I’d make you new and solid as I am if I could, show you properly.”

   William gazed at her when she released him. “Do you mean that?”

   “Can’t lie, ‘member?”

   “We can be mistaken...”

   “I’m not,” Buffy said, kind of annoyed.

   “But... how much of this is me, and how much...?”

   “Spike? I don’t know. I mean, you’ve never helped me save the world, and he kind of did. But he’s also a blood sucking murderer, and you really aren’t. So... yeah. I don’t know. Some of what you each are has mushed in my head, but... I’m not  _ just _ seeing him when I look at you, really,” Buffy said. “Or... or I’m seeing you  _ in _ him, or... or...” She shook her head. “Complicated. But yes, I mean it, you dope.”

   “What is it that you feel you want?”

   Buffy reached out and touched his lovely face. “I want to know you,” she said. “I know you don’t understand it, but sex is more than just breeding and pleasure. You learn so much about someone when you do this... very physical act. It’s like reading someone’s writing, or learning their fighting style. There’s this extra dimension to them: this is how they make love.” She suddenly felt self-conscious. “Not... that I’ve done that with a lot of guys, really, but... I mean... it just....”

   “It becomes part of what’s between you,” he said. “You learn to know them.”

   Buffy remembered how Riley couldn’t tell the difference between herself and Faith when Faith was in her body. “Yeah,” Buffy said. “Or you’re supposed to. And it... well, it helps. It creates a... well....”

   “A bond.”

   “It can. Done right it can,” Buffy said, remembering Parker. No bonds there, thank god.

   “Then maybe... this could be what....” William was looking at her very seriously. “Buffy. Did you want to see how souls mate?”

   Buffy was taken aback. She hadn’t realized that was quite what she was asking for. “We can? I mean, they do?”

   William laughed. “Mate is an awkward term, but... in a way.”

   “Oh, god yes, tell me.”

   William gazed at her for a long moment. “It isn’t... I’m fairly certain it’s not the same as what you’re longing for.”

   Buffy reached forward and touched his face. “I’m longing for  _ you _ dammit, and it’s like I can’t even touch you....” She swallowed. “No, it’s not lust, not like it was with a body and everything, but... I want  _ more. _ ”

   “There is more,” he whispered. “Shall I show you?”

   Buffy reached for him. “Yes.”

   William embraced her, held her close, and Buffy felt his non-existent breath in her hair. A moment later they were no longer in her front hall. Buffy leaned back and found they were sitting on a bed of dark wood with a velvet half-canopy over the top. The room was warm, piled with books, and a smoldering coal fire burned in a fireplace in the corner. A very messy desk piled with loose-leaf papers was illuminated by a single candle in a holder with a glass chimney protecting it from any potential draft. It seemed to be night. Gas lamps burned against the walls. “Where are we?”

   “This is my bedroom,” William said shyly. “Or it was. I thought somewhere comfortable.... Or we could... yours....”

   “It’s perfect.” Buffy was almost as fascinated by the room as she was by William’s offer. A facebowl and pitcher waited on a vanity. A small portrait of Anne and a man Buffy assumed to be William’s father graced the wall above the desk. The sheer number of books daunted her. Spike was... bookish. The idea amused her. There was also a violin case against the wall. “You play the violin?” she asked.

   “Not well,” William said. “No better than I write poetry. I had lessons in piano as well. Mostly I appreciate more than participate.”

   “Spike’s into music, too,” Buffy said. She chuckled. “Punk rock, mostly.” William gazed at her for a long while, and she began to feel self-conscious. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have brought him up.” He still didn’t say anything. “You know, if you’ve changed your mind about this... whatever it is, we can just...”

   William suddenly laughed. “This is awkward as a wedding night.”

   “I don’t even know what we’re supposed to be doing, if it’s not... well....”

   William paused. “It might not work,” he said. “Nothing may happen at all.”

   “Why not? I mean, what  _ is _ it that might not work?”

   William reached out his hand, and Buffy took it, and he pulled her closer. She climbed across to him on the bed and he kissed her, lightly. “You may well have done it in life,” he said quietly. “You may not have seen it as anything at the time.”

   “Seen what?”

   “This....” He sighed. “But... in life it’s very difficult. It’s easier to do as merely spirit. But it’s not impossible even bound to physical form. Only, if there’s no... usually new arrivals such as yourself aren’t quite open enough, not unless they’d already done it on Earth with... the person they....” He looked very nervous suddenly. “Perhaps we should abandon this endeavor.”

   “Are you trying to talk me out of this suddenly?”

   “It really might not work,” he said.

   “Spike–” Buffy stopped, swallowed, and felt bad for her slip. “William. I asked for a reason. If I’m about to be taken from here... I might not have time to stop being a ‘new arrival.’ Please. Just... tell me whatever... or show me. Or...” Buffy sighed and sat down beside him. “Okay. Explain to me how it is that I can want something when I don’t even understand what you’re trying to get at?”

   “I really can’t explain it. If it works, I can show you, if it doesn’t....” He shook his head. William’s blue eyes gazed into hers, and to Buffy’s surprise she did feel... something. No. It was gone. She wished she still had hormones and pleasure centers. They were so much more straight-forward. “Would you just hold me?” he asked quietly.

   She was about to say,  _ That’s it? _ but the look on his face was so earnest and pure she couldn’t dismiss it. “Sure.”

   William opened his arm and she slipped in beside him, nestling her head against his chest. It felt awkward for all of three seconds, and then William squeezed her, and Buffy realized... this  _ was _ it. This was all it was going to be. She sighed in disappointment, but William chuckled. “What?”

   “This isn’t it,” he said with a grin. “Like I said, nothing may happen at all. It may just be this.”

   “Well, this could be nice,” she said. “Dull, but nice.”

   “If it grows too dull, I’ll recite you some of my worst poetry,” he said fondly. “If nothing else, it would be good for a laugh.”

   “You have a much better sense of humor about it than Spike did.”

   “Nothing hurts up here,” William said. “Not even remembered humiliation or the undeniable paucity of my supposed creative talent.”

   Buffy chuckled and settled in, trying to get herself – her spirit – comfortable. William gazed at her. Her head was just at the right angle to stare into his eyes. “So what’s supposed to happen, anyway?” Buffy asked.

   “Everything and nothing,” William said. “If this is all...” he smiled at her, and gently touched her cheek, “it is well enough.”

   “And if this isn’t all?” Buffy asked. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

   “Everything and nothing,” William said again.

   “But you keep saying it might not happen. How do you make it...?”

   “You can’t force it,” he said. “You actually can’t. But if you just... be here with me, Buffy. If it happens, you’ll know. If it doesn’t... thank you.”

   “I’m not keen on the cryptic.”

   “There’s no words for it,” William laughed. “If there were... it wouldn’t be what it is.”

   Buffy was mildly annoyed, though holding him, and being held by him, that was nice. “Well, while this thing does or doesn’t happen which we may or may not do, can we talk?”

   “If you like,” he said, amused.

   “Why do you think it’s not going to work?”

   “This, or convincing your friends?”

   “My friends. Stopping the resurrection.”

   William closed his eyes. “Something Drusilla said,” he said. “She wasn’t talking to you.”

   “I don’t understand.”

   “Nor do I. Drusilla is scattered, you know. Her visions... they can be scattered, too.”

   “Tell me about Drusilla. How did you get her to come together as much as you did?”

   “By being there for her,” William said. “Not all of her aspects could come to me. It... it was this, actually,” he said, squeezing Buffy a little. “This was what drew her together.”

   “This thing which may or may not happen, which...”

   “Don’t think on it so hard,” William said. “It’s not difficult, though it isn’t simple, either. But yes. You’ve actually seen it. Before we left her, as I rocked her to sleep.”

   “That was soul matings?”

   “A little. She can only even begin to do a little. Like I said, the word  _ mating _ isn’t truly accurate. It isn’t in any way sexual. Humans do it all the time. Friends. Lovers. Parents and infants, constantly. Like I said, you may well have done it before, you just... didn’t see it.”

   “If I didn’t see it, then what...”

   “You’d have felt it,” William said. “If only for a moment. Here... you’d see it. In fact, you’re solid enough you might want to close your eyes. It might look a little odd. But as for Drusilla... chaos. She was sheer chaos, and she wouldn’t leave me alone. I felt too wretched about her to insist on it, as Liam always did, pushing her away, or fleeing from her. I found one aspect... the wordless child you saw, and took her up. I always....” He stopped, and swallowed.

   “What?”

   William looked almost embarrassed. “Well, I had always wanted a daughter,” he said. “Some girl child to care for, to catch up and cuddle and sing to.”

   “If you’d had kids, you couldn’t have picked, boy or girl,” Buffy said.

   “No, I couldn’t,” William said. “This is another place where my time and yours differ. I’d have loved a son, as well, but... in my era we were not permitted to show such affection for male children as we could for young girls. Not beyond a certain age. Boys had to stand without cuddling. My mother was... considered abnormally affectionate within my social circles. Almost disturbingly so.”

   “Why?”

   “After my father died, she missed him a great deal,” William said. “She did not banish me to the nursery and the care of a nanny, to be seen for half-an-hour in a day. She kept me mostly with her, read to me and sang to me and took me walking... I became her companion. I presume because she had none other.”

   “And that was seen as abnormal?” It seemed like a perfectly normal loving mother to Buffy.

   “Within upperclass society, yes,” William said. “Almost aberrant. There were some laughing jokes that she had made me her second husband. Or that I wanted to be. Or she wanted me to be. Or some such variant of the idea.”

   Buffy looked up at him. “Is that true?”

   “There was no truth to it at all, in the sordid way you mean,” William said, a certain stiffness to his voice. “I was her companion, and she mine, but as a son, not–”

   Buffy realized he’d misunderstood. She’d assumed he would have realized – if Anne had been anything like that evil, she’d never have been here in heaven. “I meant the people who said that,” she said. “They actually _ said  _ that?”

   “Oh, yes. In public parties, no less. It made quite the rounds amongst certain circles.”

   “They claimed you were her husband, at... what... how old were you?”

   “Ten, when I first heard the joke. Twenty-two the last time I heard it.”

   “As a joke,” she said “A  _ joke. _ They _ laughed? _ They thought that idea was _ funny? _ ”

   “Apparently so,” William said.

   “That’s sick. What a fucked up society.”

   William paused. “I don’t suppose they thought about it much,” he said. “I very much doubt they meant ill.”

   “Yeah, but if it was true, it wouldn’t have been funny. It would have been horrific. And if it wasn’t true, to say it was cruel.”

   “Yes,” William said. “I suppose it was.” They were silent for a long while.

   “So. Drusilla?” Buffy finally prompted.

   “Yes,” William said with a sigh. “Well. I always wanted a daughter. This single young aspect of Drusilla... she seemed so helpless. I took up the child, and embraced her, comforted her as much as I could amidst the chaos. It stilled many of the others, and they came to watch. After a time they came to accept it as normal, and eventually one of the women... one of the seers, it was. She came and placed her hand on the child, and she faded away. The next time I came to find the girl, all I found was the seer, and she sought me out, touched me, and became the girl again. I knew then that they had come together. I made it my goal to draw as many to me as I could, to bring her together as much as possible. I made some small success, over time.”

   “That’s sweet,” Buffy said. “Do you think she’ll come together any more?”

   “Perhaps,” William said. “It was the ones most capable of seeing reason that came together in the first place. I don’t–”

   “William...,” Buffy stopped him. “What’s happening?”

   William smiled. “Hallo, Buffy,” he said quietly.

   “I...” Buffy couldn’t put her finger on what was happening. There was a feeling, something beyond ‘being held’ something that wasn’t... quite... anything. And yet it felt good. It felt  _ very _ good. She was completely and wholly aware of William being there with her. As aware of him as she were aware of her own arm or her own foot, as much connected to her as her own self, and yet it was not as if she were him in any way. She was simply becoming gradually more and more  _ aware _ of him. “What is this?”

   “What does it feel like?” William asked.

   “I....” Buffy closed her eyes and moaned, contentment pouring into every part of her. It felt almost post-coital, but it wasn’t so self-centered as that. It wasn’t at all like sleeping with Riley had ever been. And Riley, really, was the person she had been physically closest to in her life.

   A memory tickled her mind, but she didn’t want to think about it. She snuggled closer to William, and he hummed his pleasure at it. “Tell me,” she whispered.

   “It’s you, and it’s me,” William said quietly. “That’s all.”

   “Why does it feel so nice?”

   “Because I’m here, and you’re there, and we’re both together,” William said. “It doesn’t make any more sense than where we are, or why we’re here. This is what it is. We’re not alive. We’re not in hell. And we’re not alone.”

   Buffy opened her eyes, and then drew in a breath. “William...,” she said nervously.

   “I told you you might not want to look,” William said. “It doesn’t look so odd when you’re not so new.”

   And not so solid still. Buffy stared. Snuggling closer to William had actually resulted in partly snuggling through him. She could see the edges of her form sort of bleeding into his, like two flames slid up alongside each other, a lighter and a match, indistinguishable which flame came from which source. Buffy lifted William’s hand and stared. She slowly laced her fingers through his, and her hand moved right through him, almost holding his wrist. She could feel him. He was so  _ there, _ she was so completely aware of him.

   “Did we just... can we....” Buffy pulled her hand away. Her own hand came out clear. She could pull away from him no trouble, she knew she could. But it felt so good to be with him...  _ with _ him. He held his hand back up, a gentle invitation, and she slid back alongside him, lacing their fingers together, lacing their whole selves sort of together. “I can feel you.”

   “I’ve been wanting to feel you,” William said, “from the moment you embraced me. At your arrival.” He gently kissed the top of her head. “I didn’t want to let go.” 

   “And when it’s over?”

   “We go on our separate ways, of course,” William said. “But the memory of this... it stays. A connection like this lingers in the soul.”

   Buffy laughed gently, pure joy in the awareness. “And you’ve done this before?”

   “Only sort of. With only a part of Drusilla. She’s too scattered to be aware of all of her, or for all of her to be aware of me. And with Mum, of course, but I was alive and an infant then.”

   “Do you remember?”

   “Not distinctly. Like an echo in the soul, that kind of love. I’m sure your soul can feel Joyce’s echo, if you look.”

   She was sure he was right. Buffy closed her eyes and just enjoyed the wonder of it. She could almost feel what he was feeling, like a hovering awareness, a shadow of self cast upon her. She reached for more, but couldn’t quite find it. She could feel his love for her, but not his thoughts. She could feel his kindness, but not his desires. It wasn’t quite as close as she sort of wanted. “Is there more?”

   William chuckled. “What more do you expect there to be?”

   “I don’t know,” she said. “We don’t suddenly start thinking the same thoughts or something, do we?”

   “That would utterly defeat the purpose,” William said.

   “What do you mean?”

   “Buffy.... If we thought the same things and felt the same things... we’d both be alone again.”

   He was sort of wrong. Even without being him, Buffy could feel – or sense, or know – the terror he had buried in that thought. Him, alone here. Without her. “We won’t let it happen,” she whispered.

   “I know,” he said. He held her even closer. “Oh,” he suddenly said. “I know what you’re still missing.”

   “What?”

   “You still need to talk to make yourself heard.”

   “Does that go away?”

   “Just with time,” he said. “And with everyone. Mother doesn’t speak any longer, you know. She only did it for you, because you’re new. As souls age, the communication becomes easier, we just sort of... know.”

   That would feel right, she realized. But she still couldn’t quite figure out how to say anything to him – or hear him – without thinking about sound and lips and language. So... something to look forward to.

   If she was allowed to stay. Buffy hummed with pleasure, and closed her eyes, falling into him. Aware of him... part of him... one day she would just be able to think, and she could tell him anything she was thinking. It was wonderful....

   It was timeless, the awareness. There was no  _ how long _ to how long they’d been there. It could have been a moment, or an hour, or a century. 

   And then without warning Buffy found she was crying – or something similar to crying. Perhaps she had gotten deeper. Perhaps they’d sunk so far into each other that he touched something in her that was better left alone. But there it was, and it hurt. The grief and the sadness of it was there, and visible, and Buffy kept her eyes closed because she no longer wanted to know what any of this looked like. She wondered if she were too young, if souls shouldn’t try for this kind of closeness without being less solid. Though... she didn’t feel too young. She felt old, old as the sky, and as if this was all she’d been reaching for her entire life.

   Because she had reached for it. Maybe William was right, and she had felt this when she was small, as an innocent baby. Maybe there were moments on Earth when her soul had briefly touched another – lying and stroking Dawn’s hair, maybe, or crying in Willow’s lap. But those would have been fleeting. But this feeling, this moment, this complete awareness of another soul beside her and connected to her and melded with her, echoed only one other moment that she ever remembered feeling, and the memory of it nearly broke her soul.

   “What is it, love?”

   “I  _ did _ feel this before,” Buffy said quietly. “Once.” And only once. With Angel. This was how it had happened, she knew it was. They had made love – that fragile, purely hormonal, terrified and somehow inherently wrong connection had happened, and left them both vulnerable. She had reached out for him, Liam had reached out for her, and she couldn’t hold it. That was how Angel had lost Liam. This closeness, this connection, this melding of self with self. 

   This was how Angel had lost his soul.

 


	11. Chapter 11

   Buffy was wounded, her soul bleeding, her pain palpable to William. “What is it, love?” he asked. “Tell me. Buffy? Tell me.”

   She told him. Without realizing it the emotion tangled her spirit so that she managed to tap into the trick of communication without words. Desperation probably caused it. She was close enough to him, aware enough of him, she  _ needed _ him to know this. She needed him to know what she wanted to convey, without being really able to find words amidst the sudden grief. And she needed him to know  _ fast _ . 

   Fortunately, William was an old enough soul to catch it even without her understanding what she was doing. She told him everything – Liam, Angel, being called as a Slayer, prophecies of death, resurrection, and Angel, Angel,  _ Angel _ . She told him everything. The whole sordid story; midnight trysts and illicit liaisons and being just a trifle too young for all of it. The sex. The betrayal. The death, threats, and torture. The resouling. Killing him. And all the twisted torment of his coming back, and leaving her again, and all of it.

   It all came out of her in a rush. Relaying it all seemed startling for her, but William was used to desperate souls telling desperate tales of betraying demons. Though usually, the demon who had betrayed a confidence (usually nothing more profound than a night’s seduction, though sometimes something longer term and more frightening) was Spike. 

   “How could he  _ forget? _ ” she asked when she’d finished pouring out her story. “How could he just run off like that, how... why...? That curse... his soul, that curse...”

   “It’s in the word itself, Buffy.  _ Curse. _ Not a gift, not a present, not an invitation. Liam was  _ dragged _ down to earth, kicking and screaming the whole way. The demon was punished, and he let your soul get caught up in that punishment. Liam was always selfish that way.”

   “It was bad enough when we were just separated. But now I’m dead!” Buffy cried out. “How could he not feel it, if we touched like this, even for a moment? How could he let it... why is he okay?”

   “Because Liam was terribly scarred,” William said. “Buffy, open your eyes.”

   She did. William’s arm was still around her, still slightly blurring through her shoulders, but he gazed at her with clear blue eyes that held her even closer.

   “I can feel you now, will you let me show you what I see?” It had been bothering him for some time, actually, even before her soul had started crying. He doubted she knew it was there.

   She nodded. William took hold of the mental manifestation of her shirt and lifted it, just a little. He revealed her stomach, where an ugly puckered scar marred her metaphysical flesh, sliced from her belly up past her ribs. It was in exactly the same place where she had stabbed Angel. It looked as if she had stabbed herself with a burning blade. It had never been visible before. It did not correspond to any wound her body had ever sustained. But there it was, now her soul was bared before William; an ugly gash of pain that had not healed over well. It had twisted part of her soul, left her wounded and marked. She reached down and touched it. “Oh, god, it’s Angel,” she said.

   William knew it was, too. He could feel Liam in that scar as clearly as if he’d scrawled his name into her spirit with a knife.

   “How did you know it was there?”

   “Because I know Drusilla,” William admitted. “And I knew Liam. Liam had his own scars. Dru could make them stand out like pockmarks, if she touched him right.”

   “From the demon?” Buffy asked. “Or Darla?”  

   “His father, I suspect, but I’m not sure. Liam’s childhood was... troubled. But Liam had a difficult time understanding love, even as a soul. From what you’ve just told me, the demon Angelus has wounded that soul even more. If he loved you, and you died, there’s likely too much scarring on his spirit to even feel the wound the way another would.”

   Buffy swallowed. “Then why does Spike feel it?”

   William’s eyes fluttered, and he swallowed. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t pretend to understand him.”

   Buffy rolled over and held William down. The violence in her nature had been risen by their contact. Peace had kept it at bay until now. Pain made her more like what she’d been on Earth. “Don’t!” she said. “Don’t skirt it, don’t beat around the damn bush. You’ve got the same dumb brain, I want an answer!”

   William didn’t have an answer. Spike... that demon-tainted body... he’d abandoned it, a home left to a new tenant. “I am not the demon, Buffy.”

   “You still have to know!” she said. “ _ Why? _ Why does he cry at night? Why does he do all those things for my friends, for Dawn? Why does he leave me hours worth of messages about how he misses me, and how he’d save me, and what he’d do if he saved me?  _ Why! _ Why can  _ he _ love me without a soul, when Angel couldn’t?”

   That was it. That was the scar, the reason she kept trying to understand him. She was trying to see what it was in a soul that the demon... just didn’t have, and she was having trouble finding it. The truth was, William was having trouble, too. The more he came to know Spike, the more he was growing just as bewildered by the whole thing as Buffy. “I... I don’t know.”

   “But he’s you and you’re him! Tell me!”

   William was utterly at a loss, but... there had to be something. “I don’t know, but... but... if he were me...” Buffy seemed to realize she was almost throttling him, and she sat back, startled. William hadn’t minded. Her violence felt as beautiful as the rest of her, as much a part of her as that scar, as integral to her personality as her passion. “If I were him....” He reached up to touch her face. “I spent my life trying to understand love.”

   “You don’t understand how like him you are,” she said, the pain still stark on her face. “I could see it clear even before this...  _ this. _ But you block it, you fight it in you. You see this scar in me, and fine. It’s there. But I’m looking at you, and whether you know it or not, you’re  _ him _ . You look like him. When you relax, you move like him. You even  _ sound _ like him, when his accent slips, or when you go casual. When you call me  _ love _ , like he did. It’s like being slapped.”

   “I don’t mean to sound like what you hate,” he said.

   “That’s not why!” she snapped. “I don’t hate him. No matter how much I wanted to, I never managed to hate him.... God, William.” She leaned forward and kissed him, hard. As always, William didn’t feel anything from it apart from the meaning inherent in the gesture, which was as easily conveyed by other means, less physical. She didn’t feel anything, either. She seemed to get even more annoyed by that, and rolled off him with a cry of frustration. She fell to the floor and crouched there, trembling.

   “Buffy?” He left the bed and joined her, falling to his knees. “What is it, love?”

   “Don’t!” Buffy pushed him back. He fell backwards and stared up at her, wounded. Buffy followed, smothering his spirit face with kisses, which he could tell weren’t  _ enough, _ dammit! “Damn you!” she said. She was hitting him, like some aspects of Drusilla would, if he’d let them. “Damn you, why’d you have to keep coming back! Couldn’t you have just left me the hell alone? What was so exciting about me that you had to keep haunting my death when you didn’t even know me!”

   “I... I’m sorry.”

   “It’s not fair,” Buffy said. She rolled off him and leaned against his bed. “I still want to kiss you and make love to you and have you  _ feel _ it.”

   “Why?” William sat up and went back to her. He couldn’t seem to stay away. “Why do you want it, when it means nothing?”

   “Because it  _ did _ mean nothing,” she said. She punched at her scar. He knew that must have hurt her to do that. It was self-hatred, and that still hurt even in spirit. “ _ This _ meant nothing. God, you spend forever not looking at something, and... it was my  _ first time _ , Spike,” she said. She didn’t seem to notice the slip. “It never, ever got good, not with anyone. Even Riley, there was always something missing, something wrong with the whole thing. He never saw  _ me. _ Me, my soul. And the only time I get body and soul together, I get  _ this. _ ” She punched the scar again.

   “So...?” William really wasn’t following.

   “Don’t you  _ get it? _ ” Buffy said. “This was wonderful. You and me, this –  _ this! _ ” She reached out for him and took his hand, lacing it through hers, but she was too agitated to connect beyond the image. Still, he knew what she meant. “It was everything. And it still wasn’t enough! And you don’t even know what I’m trying to get at!”

   “Then... then explain it.”

   “Look at me,” she said. She yanked her clothes off. They came off without zippers or ties or awkward physics. They came off as if they were velcroed like a stripper’s costume, because they weren’t real. She sat nude and glorious and looked down upon a spirit which could only experience her beauty aesthetically.

   “Oh,” William said. He finally got what she meant. It was strange to her, being only soul, he supposed. For himself, all those impulses had faded almost immediately. He hadn’t experienced them in life. He had regretted them in death. Cecily had broken his heart, Drusilla – whom he had also lusted for – had murdered him. The reference had been a series of cruel and disturbing jokes in regards to his mother. Sex and bodily pleasure had become only pain, even in memory. He almost wished he could make himself feel it, become as she was, newborn, still steeped in residual mortal lust. As it was, he could only admire her. “You are beautiful.”

   “And it means shit to you, doesn’t it.”

   He didn’t know what to say. “Your soul is beautiful no matter how you present it.”

   “And you have no idea how much I want to hit you for saying that!” Buffy snapped. She stood up. He knew she was going to leave, and he didn’t know how they were going to reconnect after that. He couldn’t let it go. She’d been there, she’d reached for him, she’d touched him – good lord, she’d touched him. Really, just for a moment until the pain hit, she’d been  _ there _ with him. He only just realized it – she had been there. With him.

   It was the first time anyone had ever....

   “Buffy!” He jumped at her and held her, held her arms, tried to look at her. “Don’t. Don’t go.”

   “Why not?” Buffy demanded. “You don’t even know what I mean. You don’t have a body! You don’t have desire or longings, you’ve been dead so long you don’t even remember them anymore! I had everything,  _ once _ . One moment, my body sated, my soul content, and now you show me the best half of what was snatched away from me?” She shook her head. “No. You have such contempt for Liam and his pock-marked soul. Well, fine! But he and I had one perfect moment of everything! And you only offer me shadows.”

   “It wasn’t my fault it broke, Buffy,” William said. “If he couldn’t hold it and broke you instead, that’s the fault of that god damned demon!”

   “At least the demon knew what he was missing,” Buffy snapped. “ _ You _ have no idea what it is I still want.” She closed her eyes, shutting out the pain. “What I’m still young and mortal enough to want.” She swallowed. “And I suppose... I suppose eventually I’ll become just like you,” she said. “A hollow echo of someone I used to be... without even a  _ dream _ of that kind of feeling....”

   If she didn’t still use words, the word wouldn’t have come up. If he hadn’t been reading Spike’s messages, the knowledge wouldn’t have been there. If Spike hadn’t been desperately, physically, passionately in love with Buffy, the thought would never have flickered into William’s head. But the word, the knowledge, the thought, all came together, and left William with an idea that bit him and drew from him as strongly as the bite that had sent him into death, sparked by a desire for  _ more _ as profound as what Drusilla had offered that night.

   “I don’t dream of it,” William said. “But he does.”

***

 

   Spike was asleep in his lower chamber – naked, as was his custom – when Buffy came to him. She was dressed all in white, and looked nervous, almost bewildered, but Spike knew what to do before he even questioned what she was doing there. Of course she was there. She was always there.

   “Buffy...” He came up and took hold of her shoulders, his hand slowly sliding up her throat, pulling her closer. The warmth of her felt like fire to his cold flesh, and the scent of her tingled through his blood. “Oh, god, I miss you...” His mouth found hers then, just as it had under that spell of Willow’s, natural, right, the best thing in the world. The taste of her, the warmth of her, the feel of her body against him. His hands slid down her back, and her clothing slid off as if it had been held on only by a breath.

   There she was, all of her, her heat and her scent and her strength, gripping on to him. “Oh, god,” she said. “God, I wanted this...!”

   An unfamiliar fire burned inside Spike’s core – heat, he felt.  _ Her.  _ The fire of his desire for her. But he’d had this dream before, and it hadn’t felt like this. That had been an erotic dream, the constant continuation of his everyday day-dream/nightmare, the thing he longed for when he lay down, and dragged him into hell whenever he woke.  _ Buffy. _ The need for her. The powerful gasping lust which made him cry out, “Oh, please, no!” because he knew he couldn’t endure the loss of it.

   But it wasn’t that.

   He felt Buffy there beside him. Felt her against him, felt the heat in her smooth skin, heard the pulse of her sweet blood, bathed in the potent scent of  _ the slayer _ . He pushed her against the wall, pressing himself to her, as if he’d fall inside her, as if she were water he could bathe in, as if her skin would melt and he’d be immersed in her blood. As if her blood could quench him. 

   The burning was brutal now. It was desire, but it wasn’t hunger, not as Spike understood it. He gasped with the sensation. He dug his fingers into her flesh – god, her flesh. Was there anything so sweet as to feel that beneath your hands? To feel her hands against you, her arms around you. Her mouth on his, her body molding against him, the bellows fanning the spark into an inferno, the love he felt a pain, a pain, bigger than him, too big for his poor demonic self to hold, too powerful to contain, too much... too much. _ Buffy, Buffy, I want you too much– too much...  _ it was all far too much.

   The screaming started even while he was still asleep.

   She vanished as his eyes opened. All alone, tormented by dreams of what he wanted most in any universe, the demon screamed and screamed and screamed in the darkness.

 

***

 

   Neither Buffy nor William had time to process what they’d done. Buffy jumped to the mirror and gazed down at Spike, still screaming naked in his bed in his lower chamber, the dream they’d entered shattered. In a sudden rush Spike left that dark room, jumped – full vampire strength being all inhuman – up to the ground floor, and fled – “No!”

   Spike had opened the door to his crypt. It was broad day out there.

   “Spike, don’t!  _ Don’t! _ ”

   He wasn’t listening. He was pawing at his chest, as if trying to tear out his heart, and he made for the second door. 

_    “Stop!” _

   He tripped. Buffy wondered if she’d tripped him – she might have, sometimes her influence seemed completely random and untraceable. He still reached for the second door, opened it. The sun was on the other side of the crypt, or he’d have been dust already.

   “Don’t do it, Spike!” she shouted. “I’m sorry! God, not for me! Don’t throw yourself away for me!”

   Spike wasn’t listening. Still clawing at himself in agony, the vampire stood just at the edge of the shadow, his skin smouldering. And Buffy couldn’t help but notice how stunning he was, even then. Even with his face a mask of agony, his body blistering in the sunlight, he was a gleaming marble god of a form. “Please... please don’t, you’ll be gone forever!” Buffy begged.

   “Think of the girl, man,” William said behind her, his tone anything but pleading. “Think of her friends. She trusted you to look out for them, and now you’re what? Easy path, again? Are you such a damn coward you’d leave them behind?”

   “That bitch,” Spike muttered in the mirror.

   “You’re right,” Buffy said, realizing William had the right handle on it. “You’re stronger than me, Spike. You can take this world, it’s always been yours. Own it!”

   Spike hesitated, and then fell backward in the fading shadow, sitting on the ground, his head on his knee. He sat in a posture of utter defeat for a moment, and Buffy realized he was crying again.

   His foot caught fire.

   Spike stared at the burning appendage for a moment – almost a moment too long, Buffy knew. Vampires were very volatile. But he casually patted the flame out and then dragged himself back inside the crypt, and closed the door.

   Buffy and William both relaxed with a sigh.

   Buffy fell back and rested her head against the wall, gasping with relief. “Oh, god, what did we do? What have we done?”

   “He... seems to have gone... back to himself now,” William said, his voice even quieter than usual. “I think... he’s strong enough to endure.”

   Buffy looked at William. He was drawn and wretched and he looked very small.

   “Are  _ you _ all right?” she asked.

   He didn’t reply, or make any move at all. Buffy realized that whatever it was that had put Spike a hair’s breadth from dusting himself had affected William too. Of course it had. “It did work, then. You were... you entered him, in the dream?”

   William nodded, yes, it had worked.

   “Were you...?”

   “I thought he would become me,” William said. “I thought, I’d go and I’d hold you, as he wanted to, and it would be me. My thoughts, my memory. But I became him.” He took a deep breath, and then another. “Buffy... I became  _ him _ .”

   Buffy didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t quite tell the difference, whether Spike became William or William became Spike... weren’t they the same? But no, apparently, they were not. Because William was crying and shaking suddenly as if he’d just been pulled from a frozen lake, and Buffy came up and put her spirit arms around him, and knew for a fact that he might as well have been a thousand miles away. He couldn’t feel her.

   “The loneliness, Buffy. The loneliness, and the hunger. So much need. He’s starving. Starving for blood, for warmth, for compassion, and for violence and death, too. And god, Buffy.... You are everything. You’re a goddess, you’re the universe, you’re the only light in the darkness.” He looked up at her. “He hates you, you know. He hates that he loves you, he hates that he wants you. He hates  _ himself _ for it, as much as he hates you. He hates every second that he has to endure in a world without you. That little girl, who seems so much like you, who was made from you, that’s his only lifeline. He’s at sea without her. Oh, god, Buffy, the loneliness. The horror of it...” William sobbed.

   He looked so wretched.

   “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

   “It hurt  _ him _ ,” William said. “ _ I  _ hurt him. Awareness, fullness, consequence, memory, all of those things  _ hurt _ him. I filled him to bursting, and I nearly took his heart with it.” He shook his head. “I remembered nothing. My life on Earth, yes, but this... here...  _ nothing _ . I was _ him. _ ”

   “I... I don’t...”

   “Don’t you understand?” William shouted. “I was _ him! _ I was a sodding demon, and I wanted you! I loved you and wanted you, and dear god, Buffy, he still wants to eat you. Do you have any idea what that’s  _ like? _ ”

   “No.”

   William closed his eyes and pulled away from her. “I can’t endure this. I....” He seemed about to flee. He crossed the room as if he couldn’t bear the sight of her. Then, without warning, he rushed back, buried his head in her shoulder, and held her so tightly, so solidly, she felt every inch of it. He was real, he was solid, he was bodily with her in a way she’d never felt on this plane before.

   Buffy held him back, only now realizing the hell she had placed before his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to him. “I’m sorry, William. I didn’t mean it. I only wanted you, I didn’t mean...”

   “I know.” William picked her up and placed her naked on the bed. There were no pretenses, no affectations, no images of anything between them. Two souls bared as he arched over her and kissed her, pressed himself against her, rolled her over and over until the bed disappeared, and the room, and it was just the two of them. And eventually their spirit bodies, too vanished, and the solid feeling of him pressed against her was gone. But he was inside her by that time, among her,  _ with _ her.

   He was right. Bodies really didn’t matter after a while.

 


	12. Chapter 12

   “Sorry,” William said. “Didn’t mean to disturb you. I thought herself might...?”

   “Orphans,” said the black-faced child in the fireplace. “In Sri-Lanka. Ten of them, all in a row. Nine. Eight. Sittin’ under heaven. One fell off, and now there’s seven. Six. Five. Screaming by the door. One tumbled in and then there’s....”

   “That’s enough,” William said, but the Drusilla child toddled off, singing the rhyme about the ten littles all dying one after another, until there were none. He wished she was just rhyming. Unfortunately, he knew Drusilla’s demon had a taste for children. And carnage.

   William had come alone this time. He had thought about bringing Buffy again, but it was complicated. Drusilla really was disturbing; if there was a hell in heaven, Drusilla presided over it. Secondly, he feared it would be hard on Drusilla; he knew how to handle her, and each successive strain on her soul made her outlying aspects harder to control. And thirdly... he wasn’t sure he wanted Buffy to hear what Dru had to say.

   She often spoke in riddles, his demon’s paramour. She had not been entirely clear when Buffy came before.

   He needed to be sure.

   Dru was in fine form tonight. He actually fought off a swarm of bats before he’d gotten to the core household. The shrieking and sounds of laughing children could have been enough to drive any other soul away, if not drive them insane themselves. (Not that it would have lasted. Disturbing feelings were easily shrugged off here.) But William had persisted. He had to find what he could about Buffy’s fate, for one. Also, before he got halfway there he had started to worry about Drusilla herself.

   When he had gotten to the household, things had looked fairly normal, though he could still hear the wuthering outside, with the high-pitched shrieking of Drusilla bats still tangled in it. Dru’s family, such as it was, kept to themselves a lot. William always thought they found Dru as disturbing as everyone else did, and they were not eager to spend more time on this plane than they had to. Dru was tending herself, some aspects stumping around and breaking things, some singing and dancing. One lay in the middle of the floor bleeding, and could not be moved. The others moved around her. One was actually sitting on her, playing paper dolls for a bit.

  The paper dolls turned into paper monsters and ate up the soon screaming teenage Drusilla aspect who was playing with them. As the dolls scattered off giggling into the corners, William tried again. “Any idea when she’ll be back?” he asked a harsh faced Drusilla wench, who was stirring something by the fire.

   “You should be out of ‘ere, ponce,” she said. “She don’t want you ‘ere, she don’t like you ‘ere, she sure as shite don’t need you ‘ere.”

   “I really don’t mean to disturb.”

   Another one of Drusilla’s aspects leaped out the wall, skeletal, desperate, wearing a rag of a dress that looked as though it were made from human skin. She grappled at William, tearing at his clothes, squealing incoherently. William simply nodded, and pushed her behind him, where she continued to claw at his back, but didn’t cause him any actual pain. “I need to consult her. Please.”

   The harsh wench by the fireplace dropped her spoon, which was made from a femur. It turned into a snake and slithered away as the dark haired aspect went to the window and looked out. She was stiff backed and harsh and cold, but she wasn’t raving. William had dealt with her before, actually, tried to get her to integrate with the kindly one, but she’d have none of it. 

   “Talk,” the hard one said. “I can ‘ear you.”

   William swallowed. He preferred to deal with his own personal aspect, the gentle one he’d cultivated, but there were victims somewhere... and it was all Drusilla. He supposed the gentle one was needed elsewhere. No need to torment some newborn soul with her madness. “It’s complicated,” he said. “Disruptions would be distracting. Can we...?”

   “No,” she said. She turned to glare at William. “If you need run from me, you don’t need me, William. Hide you in my quiet womb like your mother. I’m not your other mother, smother you in your sleep. I’m harsh and hard and dead and gone.” She looked back out the window again. “Don’t need that kindness. You yell in the void. It’s where you’re headed, anyhow.”

   He took a deep breath. All right, then. “She’s to be taken away from here, isn’t she,” William said. “Buffy.”

   “And why should you care?” Drusilla asked. “You find the love your soul’s been reachin’ for, then? Finally got close to someone?”

   William regarded her. Jealousy was almost entirely unheard of in this place, but Drusilla was mad. “I think you knew I would.”

   “Knew you already had,” she said. “You just didn’t know it yet. Ashes to ashes to ashes....”

   “What you told us,” he said. “When I came to you before. You knew we would fail, didn’t you.”

   “Fail. What are you trying to succeed at, William? Keepin’ her here? That’s one way to put it. There’s other ways to lose.”

   “We aren’t going to win, are we,” William said. “She’s going to be dragged back to earth.”

   “And all the heavens will tremble,” Drusilla said. “There will be blood and horror and pain and loss. The slayer will turn from love to hate. She loves all today. She will love none tomorrow.” She looked at William with a surprisingly serene expression. “No. Not you. She won’t remember you.” She looked back out the window. “Eat a bite out of her soul, you will, but she won’t remember you.”

   William stared at the soul of the vampire who murdered him. “Why?” he asked. “What are we doing wrong? Isn’t there something...? Anything we can do to change things on earth?”

   “You’re doing them,” Drusilla said. “But fate’s a tricksy thing.  _ Fait accompli. _ Someone somewhere knew the walls were thin. The life calls in a power, the power calls in the dark force, the dark force calls in the magic, and the magic calls in the life, over and over and over again. Somebody somewhere already ate her destiny to die. You’re just one soul. You can’t change it now.”

   “Someone ate her destiny?” William asked. “What are you talking about?”

   The dark Dru went to the wall and touched it. The mirror that he usually only saw in the quiet place was hidden behind a curtain. He supposed it was part of Drusilla, rather than in any real space here. Drusilla’s surroundings were more fluid and stranger than anything he himself ever envisioned.

   The two little dolls, the saint and the vampire, stared out at him, and the dark Dru passed her hand over the mirror. William saw a vision, some kind of cavern, strange otherworldly beings speaking with... “Is that Liam?”

   “Angel,” said Drusilla. “Angelus is my Angel now.”

   “What in the hell is he doing?” William asked.

   “There was a future,” the Drusilla said. “Angel loved the slayer too much to stay with her.” She smiled. “So he says.”

   “That doesn’t even make sense.”

   Several of the aspects circling around them hissed, and a bunch of hailstones in the shape of human toes fell down the chimney. “Nooo....” someone wailed.

   “It does if you’re my Angel. If he stayed with her, he’d have to stop loving her, ‘cause he doesn’t know how. Far from her, she’s perfect. Pure. He can imagine her any way he wants. He can love her forever then.”

   “That’s not love,” William snapped.

   “It is love,” Dru said. “It’s just it’s not her.” She touched the mirror, and things began to move. “There was a future in play where Angel was turned human. He could have been with her then. He chose to give it up, ‘cause he’d been told she would die.”

   “Well... she did die. That was the point!” William said. “And she wants to remain dead.”

   “If Angel had stayed with her, that could have happened,” Drusilla said. “It’s what would have happened.”

_ “She’ll die? _ ” the Angel in the mirror said faintly.  _ “Then I’m here to beg for her life.” _

   “No!” William shouted at the mirror.

   “This was long ago,” Drusilla told him, even as the unearthly things in the mirror said,  _ “It is not our place to grant life or death.” _

_   “And I ask you to take mine back,” _ Angel said.  _ “Look, I can't protect her or anyone this way, not as a man.” _

   The creature stared at Angel.  _ “You're asking to be what you were, a demon with a soul, because of the Slayer?” _

_    “Oh, this is a matter of love,”  _ said the other creature.  _ “It does not concern us.” _

_    “Yes, it does.”  _ Angel babbled on at them.  _ “I'm no good to you like this.” _

   “What does it matter what you are?” William shouted at him.

   “I can’t hear you,” said Angel – the Drusilla/Angel, William knew – sliding out from behind the mirror. He stood sullenly beside William and frowned at the mirror. “I made this decision years ago. On Earth. I rejected the soul first chance I got, and when fate took the demon, I called it back.”

   “I thought you were all about the destiny!” William growled at him. “Wasn’t that  _ your _ destiny? Humanity, then?”  

   Angel/Drusilla shrugged. “I’m more important. She has a new fate now.”

   William’s fist clenched, an impulse he thought he’d curtailed when he was still a boy. If he’d thought the soul beside him was actually Liam or Angel or whoever the hell the ponce called himself these days, he’d have gladly hit him. Even if there was no physical pain, the rage William felt at this casual arrogance would have been felt with the blow. But the Angel standing beside him was only a fragment of Drusilla’s mad, scattered soul, and Angel wasn’t her fault. 

   “Now she has a fate? To be dragged back to Earth? Angel’s not even in her life!”

   “He was meant to be,” Drusilla said on William’s other side. “Some Power saw him there. As helpmate and lover, her soft place, strong enough to hold her love, blunt her edges, soften her hard road.”

   “So what went wrong?”

   “I’m better than that!” Angel said with a nasty snarl which sounded more like Drusilla’s old Angelus than the gloomy Angel. “Come on, William, you really think I’m meant to sit on the sidelines and take her orders? She’s a kid!”

   “She’s a warrior,” William snapped. “And you’re a self-centered libertine, Liam.” William turned back to the mirror. “You buggered up her destiny. You weren’t important enough in it, so you buggered it up!” William was not surprised. He knew Liam of old. Twenty years sharing victims with the man, and he never seemed to take responsibility for them... and his arrogance was extreme. “So what’d you do? Why does what  _ Angel _ did mean  _ she _ will now be called back to Earth?”

   “Because her life feels unfinished,” Drusilla said. “There is one day missing. The witch senses it. Even Buffy sensed it. There is a crack in her destiny, and the witch’s power has been caught in it. If that day had not been swallowed, the witch would have no chance of catching her little fingers into it and dragging the slayer back.”

   “How the hell will bringing her back after her death clean up that missing day?”

   “It won’t,” Drusilla said. “It will only force the crack in destiny wider. It will pour more and stronger dark power into the witch, and if she manages to bottle it up... destiny will crack the witch open. One way or another. Another death perhaps. Or a betrayal. Or loss. Something will crack open the witch. And that will call The First.” Drusilla stopped and stood before the mirror. She... did not look like herself. She was dark and pale and lanky and unearthly and dear god, William hadn’t seen this since the night he had died. This was not merely Drusilla’s soul. Somehow, some way....

   “You’re the vampire.”

   Drusilla smiled. “Sweet William. You see too much and too little. Yes, the vampire sees this place in her visions. Sometimes. She has been known to see her own soul. It drives her deeper and deeper into her madness.”

   William stared. All the other aspects of his soul’s mad friend had vanished, even the Drusilla/Angel who had been lurking before the mirror. The desperate skeleton was gone from William’s shoulders, and even the paper dolls had fled. The sooty fireplace was empty of its usual black-faced child aspect.

   Dru wasn’t here anymore. “You’re not Drusilla,” William said. Somehow he knew it, but he wasn’t sure how. “What are you?”

   “I’m what I want to be,” it said. “Stop asking questions. You won’t like the answers.”

   “What do you mean?”

   The Drusilla vampire who wasn’t even Drusilla smiled at him, revealing truly hideous looking teeth. She had gone vampire at him, and his soul shuddered, as it had done when the real Drusilla had revealed herself.  _ This is wrong, this is not human, this is not what was advertised. _ And at the same time, a thrill of longing rushed through him... just as it had before she’d killed him.

   Oh, god, he did not deserve this place.

   “Go back to your mother,” the evil creature said. “Go back to your books and your rules and your terror of setting a foot wrong. You don’t trust that demon. The Slayer isn’t your concern. Let her go back to Earth, and just watch over her. She’s only corrupting you.”

   “What does that matter?”

   “You wouldn’t want to leave your mother again, would you?” the creature said. “You want too much... you hunger for too much. You were already on shaky ground, with this corruptible soul of yours.  _ God, yes, I want it.... _ We all know you  _ chose _ . The wrong move, and maybe you won’t belong here.”

   “And what is  _ that _ supposed to mean?” William demanded.

   “You know the truly wicked never find their way to this place.” The Drusilla-creature smiled. “Perhaps there is more than one reason to be cast out of heaven. Buffy will be called to her own place. You... might end up where you  _ really _ belong.”

   William steeled himself. If he had not been a mere soul, he would have bitten his tongue, keeping his own counsel before this thing he instinctively could not trust, but truth had been too much a part of him for too long. “I belong at the Slayer’s side.”

   The Drusilla-thing smiled. “The thorn in her side, perhaps,” the thing said. “Or perhaps you belong where the murderers are. The killers and the thieves and the selfish buggers who also run from their mothers after the first pretty skirt that flashes them in an alley.”

   “You’re trying to make me feel guilty for my own murder.”

   The creature came up to him and nuzzled at him seductively. “Oh, William. I needn’t try.” Her hand slid up his body, and, bloody hell, he _ felt _ it! Stronger even than Buffy, almost as strong as what he’d felt when he cruelly infected that demon in his lust-fueled dreams. It felt like power, and he screamed with it, because it was  _ so wrong! _

   And then Drusilla stopped hiding. William didn’t know if it was because the thing had attacked him, but Drusilla came out screaming. The wuthering, it increased, and roared, and the bats swooped down the chimney, and William found himself being dragged to the floor by paper dolls – nipping paper monsters – and the black and white twins leaped from out of the corner, and the harsh, hard Dru roared – bloody hell, she  _ was _ a vampire, that one! he’d never realized that before – and launched herself at the Dru-creature, and there was the Angel-Drusilla, laughing as he joined in the fray, and there – no! God, no, don’t!– there was his gentle white-clad angel Dru, and he had had no idea she could fight.

   The creature who had worn Dru’s face seemed to melt Dru’s corner of reality into mist, and then into water, and it was sliding and rushing and falling over harsh rocks of reason, and William was caught up in it. He stood, trying to hold it up, trying to catch hold of something, anything within the chaos. He had never realized how comforting Drusilla’s disturbing chaos really was.  _ She _ was only mad.  _ This _ was  _ evil. _ It was nothing and wrong and it made a black spot in this place, as if it had no place in heaven. Drusilla, somehow, could stand against it. The wuthering sounds grew to a shrieking howl, and the howl to a deafening roar, and William still stood, bracing against the chaos though he could sense that someone was telling him to flee.

   “No!”

   William was not a strong man in life. He was not a force for powerful good in death. But he knew how to stand with those he cared for, and whatever had come and attacked Drusilla, the broken soul should not fight it alone.

   He braced himself, stood against the evil, shunted it out of his mind, forced it out of his reality, stood within Drusilla’s army of aspects a stolid force of sanity. She was unpredictable, and that was a weapon against the evil, even though at the same time, her shattered soul had let it in. She used it to fight the evil now, squealing her battle of wills as she kept this  _ thing _ from taking root.

   William... he had never thought of himself as a warrior before. But he stood with the mad but sainted soul of this powerful seeress, and made himself fight. It was not fists or weapons, simply will.

   He hadn’t realized he had it in him.

   When the battle was over – and yes, it was a battle. He had no doubt of it – William found himself in emptiness. His soul was weary. He had been spending too much time with Buffy and her solid memories. His own aspect felt the need to pant and sag and finally go to its knees as he tried to regain his strength. It had not been easy to repel the thing, but at the same time there had been a clear path for it to go. This place was anathema to evil. It did not want it to stay. This place – heaven as Buffy kept calling it – had been their ally in ousting it.

   William looked up, expecting Drusilla to slowly waft in around him again, the wuthering and the diffuse miasma of her shattered soul drifting in like a cloud. That wasn’t what happened. William found himself in the dark, with no landscape formed around him. Finally he made his own – he was too far from his mother to make this home, but he managed to pull up a school room from his youth. There, now there was something to build on. 

   “Drusilla?”

   The smallest spirit noise drew him behind a desk. There, lying in several scattered pieces, was a large doll, about two feet in length, her hair knotted and matted, her dress torn and filthy, one of her eyes dangling out on a string. William almost dismissed it, but the doll had a bonnet... a bonnet like the gentle one’s little girl shape. He reached out to touch it.

   The doll’s remaining eye opened, and her head cocked. “William,” the doll whispered.

   “Oh, Dru.” William lifted the doll up. She felt surprisingly heavy, like an infant in his arms. He picked up the fallen shoes and the dropped fingers and the severed porcelain leg, collected all the pieces and nestled her safely into his arms. He didn’t even think twice before he found himself at home.

   No. Not at home. Or yes, at home, because home wasn’t his mother any longer. At some point once they’d let themselves cleave to each other, William’s home had somehow become Buffy.

 


	13. Chapter 13

  
  


   “What’s going on?”

   “I don’t know. I went to consult Dru, and  _ this _ happened,” William said. “Something attacked her, or us, and we had to bloody fight it.” 

   He lay the doll on Buffy’s bed and tried to reassemble her as much as he could, piecing fingers to hands, and feet to ankles, sliding the broken eye back into its socket. The doll shifted and squealed and sometimes bled, and more pieces fell off.

   Buffy darted in on the other side and tried to help hold her together. “Oh, god, this is like a bad dream,” she said. “The thing you can’t fix, it just keeps breaking more and more....”

   William looked up.

   “I had dreams like that a lot when I was first called,” she said. “When my parents were having their divorce.”

   “How’d you get out of them?” William asked.

   “I’d wake up screaming,” Buffy said.

   No help there. Buffy held the torso of the wiggling doll together. “What happened?”

   William told her what he could. “I don’t know what it was,” he said when he’d finished. “I don’t know when it took over, or how much of what I was shown was actually Drusilla.”

   “But what was it?”

   “I don’t know. It was shaped like Dru, but it wasn’t Dru. It made some reference at one point. Called itself The First.”

   “The First?” Buffy dropped Drusilla and stepped away from the bed. “The First Evil?”

   “I don’t know, do I,” he snapped, flustered.

   “I fought something called the First Evil once,” Buffy said. “It had tried to attack Angel.  Claimed it was the one that had brought him back to my dimension. Something always seemed off about how that happened. There was something about a vampire with a soul, it put a lot of weight behind it. As if it that could seriously help or hinder it, one way or another. It was trying to corrupt him.”

   “Did it succeed?”

   “It might have, at some level. Talked him into killing himself at one point. I talked him out of it.”

   William looked up at her. Then Drusilla made a noise, and his attention was drawn back to her. “God, what did that thing do to her? She’s so diminished... I don’t even know if this is all of her.”

   “Can a soul be killed here?” Buffy asked.

   “I wouldn’t have thought so,” William said. “But this First wasn’t of this place. That I know. And Drusilla is... different. She was always fragile.” He sat down, his hand still holding Drusilla’s body, as if that could hold it together. It seemed to help. No more pieces actively fell off. The doll turned its head and nestled against his thigh. Finally William relaxed a little. He tilted his head against Buffy’s headboard.

   Buffy reached for him, and he cringed away. “Don’t, pet. I’m already too solid. You touch me and I’ll start to tremble and shake, you might even get me crying. I’m much better off without physical reactions for a bit.” He took in a deep breath. It did kind of tremble. “I’ve never had to fight anything before... not here. And nothing like this.”

   “Well, you made yourself do it. And well, I’ll bet.”

   William scoffed. “I doubt it.”

   “I don’t.”

   “Why wouldn’t you?” William snapped. “Breakable, remember?”

   “You fought well, I know you did.”

   “How would you know?”

   Buffy gestured to him. “Look at you.”

   “Exhausted, frightened, bewildered, and totally out of my depth? Yes, I’m sure my aspect is a treat.”

   Buffy stared at him for a moment, and then without a word, tilted her bedroom mirror so it shone full on William. He blinked.

   He still had his own hair. Otherwise, he’d put himself into Spike’s wardrobe. Black t-shirt, leather duster, slick jeans, punk boots. He gasped, and trembling began for real. William closed his eyes, terrified. When he opened them again he was back in his own clothes. Sort of. They were still black. He stared at the sleeve of his Victorian coat, but it would not turn to its staid buff again, and his crisp starched white shirt stayed mourning black. He closed his fist and seemed to fold into himself. “Why would I do that?” he muttered to himself. “Why? Why would I do this to myself?”

   “‘Cause you knew he could fight,” Buffy said.

   “So? I could have put myself into a military uniform more cleanly!”

   “But a soldier isn’t you. Spike is.”

   “He’s  _ not, _ ” William said. “I don’t want him to be.”

   “Until you need to protect someone,” Buffy said. This was wrong. No one should need to be protected in heaven! She needed to figure this out. But they couldn’t leave Drusilla all alone....

   On an impulse, Buffy pulled her Mr. Gordo down from the shelf and nestled the stuffed pig next to Dru. The Dru aspect hummed and closed its glassy eyes, and Buffy took William’s hand. She didn’t know why, but she felt as if the pig could protect the doll. She wondered if, at some level, Mr. Gordo was like one of Drusilla’s lesser aspects, some small part of her own soul left on guard. It made sense. It had been her impulse, anyway, and she did feel as if she’d know if something happened to Dru now that the doll was snuggling Gordo.

   “Come on,” she said. “I am officially calling a Scooby meeting.”

***

 

   A little while later, Buffy sat back at the dining room table with Merrick, Joyce, and William, the heavenly version of Scoobies. They left much to be desired. Still, it was better than facing a new Big Bad all alone.

   There shouldn’t even  _ be  _ a Big Bad! It was all wrong.

   Merrick was the first to express bewilderment. “You’re saying that this other victim told you that the First Evil was prowling about? Why?”

   “She didn’t merely tell me,” William said. “It  _ was _ . Whatever this being is, it had manifested itself as Drusilla. Drusilla is a powerful seer, she can gaze upon things on Earth even if they are shielded in some way, but this wasn’t simply her.”

   “But how could an evil power get to here from Earth?” Joyce asked.

   “It’s the same one that attacked at Christmas, Mom. The year it snowed?” Buffy told Joyce. “I think it’s everywhere, not just Earth. I think it’s bigger than that.”

   “Your Drusilla,” Merrick said. “You say she had been driven mad? Is she a shattered soul?”

   “Yes,” William confessed.

   “That explains that,” Merrick said. “The watchers here, we do not have the influence we had on Earth, but our combined knowledge isn’t insubstantial. Shattered souls are weak points on this plane. They aren’t rare, but they usually diffuse quickly. Too scattered to hold a place here.”

   “She can’t leave,” William said. “The vampire on Earth binds her soul here.”

   “But I still don’t understand how something evil could even show up here,” Joyce said. “Only goodness can reign here.”

   “That’s... not entirely the case,” William said. “Besides, it wasn’t trying to stay.”

   “What was it trying to do?” Merrick asked.

   “It wanted me to abandon Buffy,” William said.

   Merrick leaned back in his chair. “Here is where I’m getting fuzzy,” he said. “You know this thing was not Drusilla. You know, instinctively, that it is evil. It told you, what...? That there is no way of stopping this resurrection, and that you would do better to abandon Buffy to her fate. But it must know you know it to be evil. So it would expect you to do the opposite, wouldn’t it?”

   “I don’t think it’s that linear,” Buffy said. “It tried to control Angel by telling him that he was evil, and that he should... um. Attack me. Angel decided to kill himself instead, and it seemed okay with that outcome, too. I think it just likes to stir the pot.”

   “But you don’t plan to abandon Buffy, do you, William?” Joyce asked.

   “That might be precisely what he should do,” Merrick said.

   Buffy rolled her eyes. “Merrick, I know it’s hard to–”    

   “Hear me out, Buffy,” Merrick said. “You were introduced to William here because you had been exposed to this demon Spike on Earth, who wore his body. It is becoming more and more probable that your associates on Earth are going to use dark magics to rend the universe to bring back your soul. This will weaken the walls of all dimensions. This will tilt power dynamics. In short, Buffy, this could destroy the planet.”

   “It’s not something I want!”

   “Of course it isn’t, but I taught you not to have social interactions. I taught you to keep your identity a secret. Instead you told your parents.”

   “And they put me in a mental ward!” Buffy said. “Yeah, I learned my lesson, okay? Can we move on?”

   “Buffy. Listen to me. You shunned my advice, and I ended up dead. The least you can do is hear this.”

   Buffy closed her eyes. “Fine.”

   “You have made friends with demons, ex-demons, and apparently very powerful witches. They have made your job of slaying easier, while opening the floodgates to powers beyond your ability to handle. The First Evil came sniffing about you the first time because of your connection to Angelus. Those monks used you and connected you to the Key, because your identity became known to them, and that put you in the path of Glorificus. Now even on  _ this _ plane you are forging a... close bond with this – if you’ll pardon me Mr. Pratt – utterly common soul based on the alliance you had with a murderous demon on earth.”

   William pursed his lips and looked down, unable to decide if he was angry or just resigned. Merrick was right. There was nothing particularly special about him. (Except for Buffy, Buffy, the slayer, lying beside him, reaching into him, resonating within him, turning him into more than he was....)

   “Your friendships, your public slayer-pride style of behavior, your all-inclusive demonic diversity, all seems well and good from the perspective of a teenage girl in an American high school. But from the point of view of the Watchers... it’s appalling. It flies in the face of everything. The secrecy, the autonomy, the strength of the slayer lies in she alone being the one to face the evil. That is the way it’s always been done. That is the way we’ve kept the dark forces at bay since time immemorial.”

   Buffy regarded Merrick for a long time. “Did you know about the Cruciamentum?”

   Merrick blinked. “That has nothing to do with the subject at hand.”

   “I think it does,” Buffy said. “You trained five slayers, and saw them all killed by vampires. You told me that. But were any of them also killed because you’d poisoned them for that barbaric watcher ritual?”

   Merrick looked down at the table.

   “Answer me, my watcher,” Buffy said quietly. “You gave your life for me. Now give me the truth.”

   “Two,” Merrick said quietly. “Two were killed in their Cruciamentum. But it was not I who killed them, Buffy, it was the vampire! They relied on their power rather than their ingenuity, and that wouldn’t be enough to face the forces against them. They were not strong enough.”

   “You tell yourself that,” Buffy said. “And then you tell me it’s my fault Evil has reared its ugly face in heaven?”

   “No, I’ll tell you, Buffy, those two. I’d been dealing with  _ Lothos _ , remember? The great elder vampire who killed me, the one who nearly got to you? Two of those slayers I trained were killed by him! If those girls couldn’t withstand their trial, they could not have withstood  _ him! _ It’s not just fangs and strength, Lothos had powers of thrall, and foresight. If their will wasn’t strong enough to–”

   “Enough. I’m not here to discuss Watcher ethics. I think we both know they’re flawed,” she said. “But I’m not going to send William away just because you think his soul is too ordinary for Slayer Business. You going to send Mom away, too?”

   Merrick was firm. “I would,” he said. “I do not think your mother should be involved in this. Far too dangerous. She could end up–”

   “Dead?” Buffy asked with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, not real worried at this point. I draw strength from my friends, I draw strength from loving. The watchers denied that to other slayers, and where are they now?”

   “Not about to shatter the universe because their friends feel they want her back.”

   “No, Kendra is turning her back on me and everyone else because she has no reason to fight anymore. Are there any other slayers floating around here?”

   It was clear from Merrick’s face that there were not. They had all passed on long ago.

   “If I hadn’t had any friends,” Buffy said, “I would have died long ago. Spike told me that, and he was right. My love for people ties me to life. I need William here. If the First Evil thinks he should go, I think he should stay.”

   “That’s just what I was getting at,” Merrick said. “It must have known you wouldn’t listen. It must want your soul connected to William’s at some level.”

   “Well... if it hadn’t shown up, William and I would have continued on as we are,” Buffy said. “So what good does showing up and posturing do? If it wanted us together, all it would have had to do was nothing.”

   Merrick paused.  “That is true,” he said.

   “Well, all right,” Joyce said. “What was it trying to do, then?”

   “It  _ could _ have gotten me to leave Buffy,” William said. “Merrick is right about one thing. I’m nothing remarkable. The suggestions it made, the fears it played on. It knew me. Had Drusilla not attacked, it could have continued to play on me, and it might have won. I doubt myself all the time, watcher. I doubt whether I am good for Buffy, whether or not I’ll be able to stand once she’s been taken from me.”

   “We still don’t know if Buffy will be taken from here,” Joyce said. “The spell hasn’t been cast yet. And I had a wonderful idea, Buffy. We’ve been trying to manipulate the people, but people have souls of their own. What if we try to manipulate something else? Like that robot.”

   Buffy frowned. “Would that work?”

   “It’s worth the try, isn’t it? I’ve been trying to manipulate it, and I think I’ve done something. I mean, all I’ve managed to do is corrupt some of Willow’s puns, but...”

   “You what?”

   Joyce turned on the television and pulled up a spot on a video she’d made. “That’ll put marzipan in your pie plate, bingo!” said the robot on the screen as it staked a vamp.

   “Marzipan? Pie plates?”

   “I was just trying to see if I could manipulate it at all,” Joyce said. “Clearly, I could. I’m going to focus my energies here for a bit, and see what that gets us.”

   “Good idea,” Merrick said. “To that end, I’ll abandon my work on keeping Mr. Giles in Sunnydale, and turn my attention to researching this First Evil. We’ll see what the watchers here on this plane think of the situation.”

   “I have to get back to Drusilla,” William said.

   “No,” Buffy said. “You go and check on your mother. I’ll stay with Dru.”

   “My mother?” William asked.

   “If this thing attacked Drusilla, it might be after Anne, too. Think about it. I can fight, Anne can’t.”

   That thought hadn’t occurred to William.

   “You go,” Buffy said. “I have Drusilla.”

   William kissed her cheek – symbolic gestures still held their symbolism – and retreated.

   Into a howling wilderness, that should have been his mother’s parlor. “Mother?” William called. “Mum!”

   There was no answer.


	14. Chapter 14

 

   “She’s gone,” William was saying, over and over again. “She’s gone, she’s just gone. I don’t know.... I’ve done it... I... she’s gone!”

   He’d come back to Buffy, they’d tried to look for her themselves, but there was no sensing Anne’s spirit anywhere. Buffy felt terrible about that, but confused as well. She didn’t really know how these planes worked.

   “There’s no indication that she was attacked,” Merrick said reassuringly.

   “She wouldn’t have just left!” William snapped.

   He was still dressed in mourning black. He looked a lot more like Spike like that.

   “If she was simply fading though, would she have been capable of saying goodbye?” Joyce asked. “I had never seen a soul as at peace as your mother. Couldn’t she just have... let go?”

   William tilted his head back. “You don’t understand,” he said. “None of you understand.”

   They didn’t, and he couldn’t explain, though he made a few awkward attempts. Things about graduation and echoes and souls which made no sense to any of the others. “None of you have been here even a decade,” William muttered. “If I could explain it, I wouldn’t have to!”

   “William, we believe you,” Buffy said. “But what can we do about it?”

   William finally just grabbed for her hand, and held it. He was so emotional, the grip actually hurt.

   She let it hurt.

   “Okay, Merrick? What have you managed to find out about the First?” she asked.

   “Nothing,” Merrick said. “It seems to come from before time, which should mean I could research it more easily up here than I could on Earth, but no. There’s only memory here. This thing’s origins are from before human memory.”

   “I don’t give a damn about its origins,” Buffy said. “What do we do to stop it?”

   “The only way any defeat evil, dearie,” came a voice from behind her. Buffy turned and saw a small, white-clad figure creeping hesitantly down the stairs. “But there’s naught you can do here, Slayer. There’s destinies in play.”

   “If destiny ever meant squat,” Buffy said, “I’d have been dead at the hands of the Master years ago.”

   Dru was human again. The breaks and tears in her doll form had mostly manifested themselves as bruises. She was a child, but not the little one that William cuddled regularly. This was more like the harsh-faced black thing that lived in the fireplace, only clothed and not covered in soot. She wore a very simple shift, and her hair was down, but her eyes... god, they looked like they opened on the universe, just a little too big for her head. Like a doll.

   Drusilla came to each of them. She stopped before Joyce first. “You already let go. You just roll with the punches, now,” she said. “Good. You’re out of the game.” She reached for the table and pulled a white pawn off a chess board which had not previously been there.  This left the white queen, the white knight, and the white bishop.

   “Don’t start, Dru,” William said. “You never learned how to play chess, and there’s too many sides in this game.”

   “But you’re my white knight,” she said quietly.

   “That’s sweet, love,” William said. “But here I’m just a pawn.”

   “I always see more in you than you do,” she said. She turned to Merrick. “The bishop, though. Too tied into his dogma.”

   “My sympathies for the torment you endured on Earth, young lady,” Merrick said. “But I was raised as a watcher from boyhood. I trained six girls including Buffy. I do know of what I speak.”

   “And they’re all here now, aren’t they, watcher,” Drusilla said. Then she raised an eyebrow. “No. They’ve all gone on. Nothing left to love enough on Earth or here. Not you, not their folk, not their friends. You left with only Buffy to look on and wonder over.” She picked up the white queen and set it in the middle of the game board. “Who owns this piece,” she said.

   “I do,” Buffy said clearly.

   Drusilla cracked it against the side of the table, and split it up the center like an egg. Blood poured onto the chessboard, staining the white knight. “Right,” she said. She dropped the queen in two pieces back onto the board, and William let go of Buffy’s hand, trying with almost feverish desperation to put it together again.

   “William, it’s a toy,” Buffy said, not taking her eyes off Dru. “An illusion of a toy, even.”

   William stopped. “I can’t leave it like this, Buffy.”

   “It’s not me.”

   “What if it is?” he asked. “Drusilla was the doll.”

   Buffy glanced at him. “I’m not a chess piece.”

   “‘S only a glimmer, anyways,” Drusilla said softly, and she sat down at the chessboard, fiddling with the pieces. The board was bloodstained. The white knight was stained red. But there were so few white pieces on the board, suddenly. A collection of little pawns, another bishop, the broken queen, and the bloody knight. There was no king at all (which should technically mean the white had lost already, right?)

   Ranked against them was what seemed to be two full black sets, or at least a set with far too many pawns. Dru kept placing more and more of them on the board, until the white looked swamped. “What are you—”

   “Shh,” Drusilla said. “The babies are sleeping.”

   The wind started wuthering outside Buffy’s house.

   “This is her mirror,” William said. “She’s not up to full strength, so she’s conjuring it here, with symbols. This is the future, I think. Her vision.”

   “The future of  _ here _ , though, or the future of Earth?”

   Dru looked up at that, her eyes narrowed at Buffy, and slammed her hand down on the chess board. Everything scattered. The board splintered. Pieces flew everywhere. “Yes.”

   “As Earth falls, so does this place,” Merrick said quietly. “This we know. This plane... it is connected. It may actually still be considered part of the Earth.”

   “How?”

   “Well... the air we breathe, or used to breathe, was part of the Earth, a cloud of gasses that surround it. This place is like a connected cloud, a spiritual atmosphere. If the Earth was destroyed, the air would go. If the Earth goes... I suspect this place will as well.”

   The air outside wuthered more loudly, and Drusilla looked up. “You’ll be wanting me gone in a tick,” she said. “Too many ants.”

   “Dru, do you know what happened to Mum?”

   “What you knew would happen to her, my William,” Drusilla said. “But she was hastened along.”

   “But her soul... it’s not…?”

   “It’s where it was always headed. Not all eaten up, needn’t worry your pretty head,” she said. “Only had one toe here anyhow. Only took a nudge to send her over.”

   “And that nudge...?”

   “Came and went,” Dru said. “Like I did.” She sat back in a chair, and then looked perplexed. She leaned forward as if she’d sat on a remote or something, and reached behind her back. What she pulled out, though, was a twisted, battered bat’s wing, connected to her shoulder. She stretched to the side of herself, then pulled another one out of her flesh, awkwardly. When they were both out she flapped them a few times, then tried to hide under them, like they were a cloak. “Well, that answers that, then. Time to fly away.”

   “Dru!”

   “I’ll see thee later, my William,” she said. “Until I won’t.” She clapped her wings and flew up through the ceiling.

   “Well. That was unique,” said Joyce quietly. She turned on the television. “Merrick? You said you’d let up on Giles?”

   “Yes.”

   “He’s gone.”

   William looked over at the television, showing Giles on the plane. “Bugger,” he muttered.

   Buffy sighed.

   “I’m going to keep working on the robot,” Joyce said. “I’ve been having some real luck, there. I got it to injure itself the other night.”

   “The other night?” Buffy asked.

   Joyce misinterpreted her dismay. “I tried to work some on the demon who witnessed it, too,” Joyce said. “Told it to cause chaos, make things as difficult as possible in Sunnydale. Willow can’t cast her spell if she can’t think straight, can she?”

   “How many days has it been since Drusilla came?” Buffy demanded.

   “Time only matters below, Buffy,” William said.

   “But I lost track!”

   “It happens.”

   “Not when it matters, it doesn’t!” Buffy snapped. “How could I lose track like that?”

   Joyce looked concerned. “Buffy, you just need to rest. You’re still a new spirit.”

   “Your mum’s right,” William said.

   Buffy sagged. “How much longer have we got?”

   “Not so little time you can’t afford to try and sleep, Buffy,” Joyce said. “William?”

   “No!” Buffy snapped. “If there’s anything I can....”

   “Please?” William asked softly.

   Buffy looked at him. He was pale — so pale he looked a bit like Spike, come to think of it — and stricken over his mother, and if there was limited time.... Oh, god. She realized this might be the last time they’d ever get to do this.

   “Keep working on that robot, Mom,” Buffy said. “Merrick?”

   “I suppose I shall try and track down that demon Joyce mentioned,” he said. “See what chaos can be caused there.”

   Buffy took William’s hand and led him upstairs. There they sank onto her bed, and sank against each other. “Are you all right?” Buffy asked him.

   “Better now that Drusilla has assured me Mother is... where she wished to be,” William said. “It was not how I would have chosen for her to leave, though.”

   “Will you miss her?”

   “I’ve been missing her for what you would think of as decades,” William said. “She’s not been as present as you have seen her in a long, long time. I think you may have been her last hurrah.” He tilted her head up and gazed into her. “And you?”

   “I’m fine,” she said. She still couldn’t imagine how she had lost so much time.... “I’m just so tired...”

   William cuddled Buffy close and kissed her brow. “We’ll do more later. Let your soul rest now.”

   Buffy closed her eyes and let herself fall into him, back into peace and completion and certainty such as she had never (or almost never) felt on earth.

   She fell – or began to perceive herself– asleep. And she was still curled up in bed in William’s arms, bound to him.

   He looked down at her, his blue eyes bright with longing, and he slid his cool hand up her arm. “Buffy... you’re here, love?”

   “I’m always here,” she whispered.

   He shifted and looked down into her, yearning in his face, in his eyes, in the set of his mouth, in the quirk of his scarred brow. “Will it hurt, this time?”

   Buffy couldn’t help but be honest. “Probably.”

   “Good,” Spike said. He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her, hungrily, but so smoothly, as if afraid to shatter the dream. His hands slid along her body, his mouth tasted her over and over, and he rolled over her, kissing along her bare torso, up her throat, back to her mouth, covering her face with little pecks before he claimed her lips again.

   Her body opened for him, and he slid inside, staring down at her with wonder and awe as he whispered her name, over and over again. “Buffy... Buffy....” Buffy lay her head back and let the sensation take her – she was fond of both taking charge and of accepting her lover’s ministrations, and she still felt she was almost asleep. She slid her arms around Spike and slipped her legs over his and pulled him into her. Such smooth passion, such determined substance, he made love to her deliberately, completely, hungrily, but steadily.

   He meant every moment, every pulse, and she could feel it, and she welcomed it, and she opened her eyes...

   To see another pair of blue eyes beneath butterscotch hair watching from beside the bed. Spike continued to make love to her, oblivious, and Buffy only now realized it was Spike’s dream she was in. Buffy didn’t know if she should feel guilty or not. She didn’t know if this counted as some kind of cheating – or if you even  _ could _ cheat as a spirit. Clearly there was nothing exclusive in the connections, as William willingly admitted he bonded with Drusilla’s kindly aspect, as well as with Buffy. But there  _ was _ something sexual in her bond with William, even without bodies or sex.

   And the something sexual was making love to her in his dream, right now. The dream she’d fallen into without realizing, as she lay in William’s arms. 

   Why was that? Because his spirit was the echo of the demon left on earth? Because they were one and the same? Buffy didn’t know, and she didn’t know what she should feel, or even what she should do. Should she stop Spike? Part of her really didn’t want to. Was she hurting William? He didn’t look betrayed. She couldn’t read the look in his eyes, actually.

   After a long moment she had to say something. “I thought it was you,” she whispered.

   “It’s not,” William said quietly.

   Spike slowed, then paused in his love making, and gazed into Buffy. “You don’t love me,” he said, realization stark in his face.

   Buffy didn’t know what to say. A second ago, she had. She had  _ completely _ , every part of him. Only it wasn’t every part of him, and she didn’t know how to explain it.

   A second later Spike rolled off her and faced William down. “Why do you always have to stand behind me?”

   “You’re the one who gets in my way,” William replied.

   “I killed you, you poncy toff.”

   “You killed yourself!” William retorted. He took a step forward.  “And you know what it is that troubles you, Spike? I’m still  _ here. _ ”

   “Piss off already.”

   “Never gonna happen,” William said, striding up into Spike’s face.

   “I said  _ piss off! _ ” Spike said, pushing William away.

   “And I said  _ no! _ ” William snapped, pushing back.

   William didn’t know how to fight, not really, so the shove would have been comical, except that Spike reacted as if it hurt. He growled, vamped up, and then punched William back, laughing with glee, beat the human soul back and back...

   Buffy didn’t know what was happening. She leaped out of bed, and tried to figure out if she should get involved. It was only Spike’s dream. William couldn’t be killed, right? And frankly, guys fighting over her was stupid and she didn’t find that at all romantic.

   But this fight didn’t seem to be over her. Neither of them were saying “she’s mine.” It hadn’t started with jealousy over finding Buffy in bed. It had started because William was there in the first place. Why he was there... Buffy was pretty sure that didn’t matter to either of them.

   This fight wasn’t over her. It was over him, himself, Spike, William, whatever he was, life, body, soul, spirit, mind, heart...

   William was beaten back across the crypt until he reached the wall. He seemed to be losing. Then without warning,  _ he _ was beating  _ Spike _ back, just as fiercely. Whatever skills Spike had, William had learned, and matched, and threw back at him. The fight quickly became beautiful to watch. Spike was always beautiful to watch in a fight. Every movement, every blow,  _ a dance _ as Spike once called it. He was dancing with himself now, a brutal war as violent as any fight he’d had with Buffy. And just like his fights with Buffy, there was something more in it. Something powerful that was beyond pain and death and winning. The end wasn’t the goal. It was the fight itself. Like a dance, to reach the end of the piece wasn’t the point. It was the movement in the music.

   And it was as Buffy watched that the miracle happened. She thought of it as such, anyway. The change was more drastic in William, but it was clear in Spike as well. With every blow, they were changing. William’s hair paled. It shorted, slicked back on his head, and became the platinum blond coif Buffy knew so well. His eyebrow acquired Spike’s distinctive scar. Even the full black coat that flared and flew appeared on William’s shoulders, and whirled as he kicked Spike in the face. Spike himself softened. His eyes deepened, his face filled out, he moved differently. They made a final round, and suddenly Buffy couldn’t tell the difference between them at all.

   Only then did Buffy break in. “All right, stop. Stop!”

   They both stopped, panting, and turned to looked at her. She still couldn’t tell. “Look. God, look at you.” She conjured up Drusilla’s vanity, took them both by the back of the neck, and turned them to see it.

   The two stared into the mirror for a long moment, identical looks of surprise on their faces, and then they turned to face each other, and glared. “I hate you,” they said in unison.

   Buffy rolled her eyes. “So what else is new? Spike, William... it doesn’t matter anymore.”

   “It matters.”

   “It absolutely matters.”

   “How? Past and future, demon, human, who gives a shit? There’s nothing to fight about! I’m dead!”

   She knew which one was Spike, now, by the grief that painted his face. Her heart was touched. She went up to him and kissed him. “And so are you,” she whispered to him. She turned and took William’s hand and led him away.

   Buffy opened her spirit eyes in her own spirit room.

   And there was William... Spike… William. He stood from her bed and stared into the mirror, shaking his head. “No. No, no....” He buried his head in his hands.

   Buffy came up behind him and put her arm around him. “It’s all right.”

   “No, it isn’t,” he said. 

   Buffy turned him and made him look at her. “What? What are you so scared of?”

   “I’m wrong,” he said quietly, staring at his new combat boots. “I’m wrong, I’m so wrong.”

   “William, talk to me. What’s the matter?”

   “What’s the matter?” he asked. “I’m no better than he is. And I knew it. I always did!”

   Buffy shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

   He winced. “I’ve been watching him,” he said. “These last weeks, watching what he’s doing, what he is. And then I think of what he’s been, and I’m  _ horrified _ . And I... I can’t....” He clenched his fists and tilted his head back, his eyes screwed shut.

   “William, what is it?” Buffy asked again.

   “I... wanted it,” William said, his voice as tiny and scared as a little boy. “That’s why this has happened, this... _ this.... _ ” He scratched at his leather clad arms. “Don’t you see it, Buffy? He’s everything I’ve ever wanted to be. Look at what he does with himself – running free, with such power, standing side by side with heroes out of ancient myth, taking out the very monsters who stole my life from me. He is doing what I would have given my soul to do... and I did!” He made a sound as if he’d been stabbed and stepped away from her, burying his face in his hands. “I did, I did, and thousands have died for it, and he has been a monster, and he would be one again, but... but only look at him!”

   He turned from the mirror and went to the window. There was Spike, awake, but not in a panic as he had been the last time Buffy visited his dream. He was standing naked in his lower chamber, pouring himself a drink, his face thoughtful. The speed with which he pounded back the shots, though, belied the calmness in his face. 

   William gestured to the window. “If I had known... known of the evil he would do... I’d have fought that vicious she-demon until my hands wore down to bone. But had you shown me the warrior, the destroyer of monsters, had you shown me his life  _ now? _ ” He rubbed at his face, then looked down at himself again, cringing... sobbing like a child.

   She knew some of this was for his mother, some was for the stress of what happened to Drusilla, and some for what had just happened, the fight. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the monogrammed handkerchief he’d given her before. Or, she assumed it was, nothing really existing as a real object. But as always here, it was literally the thought that counted, and he took it without ceremony, hiding his face in it. “You don’t have to hate yourself, William.”

   “Oh, Buffy, if only that were true,” he said. “What kind of man... what moral soul longs for such violence, and would trade life and love to fight monsters in the dead of night, never again to be part of the sunlit world? What kind of soul am I to be faced with such horror, and long for it, eager to be a part of it like a greyhound in the slips? How could I crave such a thing, and still be worthy of this place? What monstrous soul have I been?”

   It all sounded very, very familiar. Buffy laughed. She couldn’t help it; it was giddy, delighted.

   “You mock me,” William said.

   “No!” Buffy jumped forward and kissed him. She kissed him warmly, passionately, and she meant it so much they both felt it.

   William groaned. “Oh, god!” he breathed when she let him go.

   “Don’t you see it, William?” Buffy said, unable to stop grinning up at him. “You’re like me. You’re  _ exactly _ like me.” She held his cheek and gazed into his eyes. “You have the soul of a slayer.”


	15. Chapter 15

 

   “Yes!  _ Yes! _ ” Buffy made a war whoop and leaped off the couch as the demon motorbike on the screen cracked the Urn of Osiris. “We did it, we did it, we _ did it! _ ”

   They were huddled around the television — William, Buffy, Joyce, and Merrick — watching the final moments of Willow’s attempted resurrection spell. The day had been like a long and very disturbing football game. One team then another seemed ahead, but the game kept on, inching closer and closer to the final goal.

   It was clear the Scoobies had sensed them. They were all awkward and hesitant, even Willow. None of them wanted to be alone, where the spirit voices shouting at them made them feel watched and uncomfortable. Giles had retreated to England without Merrick to keep at his conscience, but the demon world had started buzzing, and the robot was almost following Joyce and Buffy’s every whim. They had to work with what the robot was programmed with already — which meant they had inadvertently made it madly in love with Spike again, a situation Buffy had had a hard time explaining to William — but that gave them a lot of leeway. So when the demons had shown, they’d made the robot too slow so it got injured, and when it was injured, it was programmed to run to Willow.

   Just as it had been programmed, it ran across Sunnydale to the witch, dragging the demons behind it like on a tether. The demons broke through the circle, interrupted the spell, scattered the Scoobies, and — this was what made Buffy whoop with triumph — broke the urn.

   “That’s it, then,” Joyce said. “They can’t bring you back without the urn. The spell’s been broken.”

   “I don’t know,” Merrick said. “They were far into that spell. Further than I’m comfortable with.”

   “Yeah, well, it’s done, right? I’m still here!” Buffy did a sexy little victory dance with her hips and arms, and William caught her waist.

   He’d been gripping on to her hand, standing beside her, unwilling to let her out of his sight. His aspect was still basically Spike’s. Joyce hadn’t said a word about that. Merrick had looked disapproving but said nothing either. William... felt comfortable in it. And it seemed to make Buffy feel more comfortable around him, too.

   He stood up to join her in her victory dance, spinning her once with a grin of triumph. He truly hadn’t thought they were going to succeed.

   Then he saw something perched atop the television. Something he hadn’t realized was there before. He froze as Buffy danced, staring at it. It was one of Drusilla’s dolls. As he stared, its head shook ever so slightly. And to his horror, he knew what she meant.

   All solidity vanished in a second. His eyes caught Buffy’s, wide with desperate panic, and he tried to grip her, but the shock and the terror had made his form unreal. He couldn’t maintain feeling in his aspect, so it felt as if Buffy had just vanished out of his hands.

   “No... wait... no!”

   And within another moment, she had.

 

***

   “I don’t know what to do.”

   William sat on the bed beside her in the dream, trying — and failing — to comfort her by caressing her hair. “It’ll be all right. I’m still with you.”

   “I don’t feel you.”

   “I’m trying.”

   “I don’t feel you.”

   “Buffy...”

   “I can’t hear you, I can’t....” She cringed in the dream, and her body cried in its sleep. “My body doesn’t feel like it fits anymore. My life doesn’t seem to fit. Nothing fits. Not even Dawn. Not my friends. Not....” She curled up tightly, and William lifted her onto his lap, trying to pull her close enough to feel him.

   It was impossible. She was so uncomfortable in her body that her soul couldn’t reach out for anything. Not even him.

   “Why are you here?” she whispered.

   Drusilla’s warning echoed in him.  _ She will not remember. _ “Do you know me?”

   “I don’t even know me.”

   “Do you remember where you were?”

   She shook her head. “I was warm... and I was loved....” She cried. “I was finished.”

   “You’re still loved,” William whispered. “Try to feel it....”

   “I can’t feel you... I can’t feel... I can’t... feel....”

   She fell out of her dream and into waking, and William was left alone.

   He reached for his bedside table and opened the book there.

_  Buffy lay crying in her bed, sobbing brokenly into a pillow trying to muffle the noise. _

   The chit was heartbroken. William rubbed his face and turned a page.

_ Spike sat watching late night television. _

   “Get up,” William whispered to the page. “Get up, go to Buffy.”

_  Spike rubbed at his forehead, then his eyes, distracted. _

   “Yeah, you hear me, don’t you. Deep inside there, you bastard. Go to Buffy.”

_  “She doesn’t want you,” Spike whispered to himself.  _

   “Yes, she does,” William told the demon. “If she didn’t, do you think I’d be like this?”

_ Spike’s attention drifted back to the television. _

   “Bugger,” William whispered, and threw the book across the room. Even when it was what the demon wanted, even if it was for Buffy, it was harder getting that demon to listen than he’d thought it would be.

   He couldn’t control it. He couldn’t make it act the way he would.

   The damn thing wasn’t him.

 

***

 

   “Well, that was interesting,” Joyce said.

   William watched Buffy as she turned away from Spike, quietly in shock still. “She looked happy to be her again.” He was frustrated that it had taken losing her memory to do it, but her soul had been clear for once. It had been enjoyable to watch as she tried to sort out her life, naming herself Joan, still loving her little sister. Joyce handed him the bowl of popcorn, and he idly took a handful. He had no idea if it was tasting the way it was supposed to. He had no personal memory of popcorn.

   William and Joyce had been spending a lot of time together since Buffy had gone. Merrick had gone back to being Merrick, the distant Watcher, and had abandoned them both, but Joyce and William enjoyed each other’s company, such as it was. It was nice to watch Buffy together, like some kind of nightly television show. He missed her. Missed her so much it almost shattered him. Joyce tried to comfort him, but it wasn’t the same for her. She was just as content watching Buffy on the screen, guiding her from afar. Joyce felt content even if Buffy was gone. 

   It was only William who felt lost without her. 

   He sprawled on the couch like Spike would have in Joyce’s living room. There was really no call to keep his prim Victorian manners; Buffy was right, he should do what he wanted. “Maybe it’ll help her.” Then he grunted. “Might make it all worse.”

   “I meant him,” Joyce said. “What was it that he said? Vampire with a soul?”

   William looked down. “Yeah.”

   “Interesting that he thought that,” Joyce said. “Not really something that springs easily to mind, you know?”

   William shrugged. “He knew Liam.”

   Joyce shook her head. “ _ I _ knew Angel. The way Spike was acting as Randy... it was nothing like Angel.” She looked over at William. “Bit like you, though.”

   William looked away. Joyce didn’t make him as solid as Buffy had. (Nothing could make him as solid as Buffy had.) She touched his shoulder anyway. “William? What is it?”

   He shook his head.

   “Are you bothered about what happened with the singing?”

   “Nah,” he said. “It was just a spell, you know? Besides. Her body isn’t mine, it’s just....”

   “I think she’s looking for you in him,” Joyce said. “And not finding it.”

   William looked down. He was actually afraid of the other possibility. That she’d look for him in Spike, and find all she needed there.

   “Oh, my...” Joyce said suddenly.

   William turned to look. Buffy and Spike stood in the corner of the Bronze, and Buffy had drawn Spike into a passionate kiss. As they watched, the circumstance faded to black, as someone, somewhere had decided, despite the public nature of what they were doing, that they deserved some privacy (at least from Buffy’s mother.)

   Joyce turned off the television. William kept staring at it. “Are you all right?” Joyce asked.

   William didn’t answer for a long moment. There had been something in that kiss. Something real, and yes, something brutal, and it was something he....

   “He wants a soul,” William said quietly.

   “What?”

   “He wants.... Without his memory, he feels the place for one, the gap isn’t just filled up with the evil, it....” He stood up. “I have to go.” He tossed a quick bow to Joyce before he fled out of her reality and into Drusilla’s.

   Drusilla’s reality was smaller now, after the attack. Many of the more horrific aspects of herself had retreated to doll forms, which made them a little easier to handle for him, at least. It meant she wasn’t up to full strength yet, which was probably a bad thing, but he couldn’t help feeling more comfortable, anyway. William would have been glad for all of it, except he hadn’t seen his gentle one at all. Just the child form of her, which did not speak. He worked through the doll’s house of horrors, and made it through to the quiet corner. There was no way in there unless Drusilla would let him.

   A dancing line of skeletal paper dolls skittered over his feet like a centipede. “Will you let me in?” he asked of them.

   There was mostly the skittering of mouse sounds all round him, but the wuthering shook the windows, which were all dollhouse sized now. “Drusilla… please.”

   A small hole appeared in the eggshell wall, like a baby chick had pecked at it. Spike peered through the peephole. The girl was in there, curled on her bed, hugging herself. “Dru?” he whispered gently. He didn’t want to rip at the eggshell wall, he wasn’t sure he could put it back together again.

   “Bugger this,” said someone roughly. “I’m so bleedin’ tired of it all.” The harsh faced creature came striding up behind him and slammed her fist into the wall. She scratched down it with her nails, and the eggshell cut open.

   William wasn’t sure what to think about this. It looked terribly destructive, but... it was all Drusilla. Whatever aspect she needed to control herself and do as she wanted would do it. And the gentle side of her was still too traumatized. He went inside the egg, and... the harsh faced vampire aspect came with him. William was nervous. This wasn’t the First come again, was it? But it didn’t seem so. It came up to the girl aspect and picked it up, her face turning vampiric as she came. Then —

   “No!”

   But it was too late. The vampire sank her fangs into the child’s throat, and drank her down. “No, stop, you don’t—”

   William was held back by the harsh creature’s eyes. They glared into his, yellow against blue, and then her own eyes faded to blue again, and the child vanished. “I can’t hide anymore,” Drusilla said. “Not worth it.” She closed her eyes for a moment, and shivered, and William cringed. What had she done…?

   When she opened her eyes again, she moved across the room and took up a shawl, arranging it around her shoulders. The wuthering came again, softer, muted. The egg had closed up again.

   William came up to her. “Is it you?” he asked.

   Drusilla laughed. It was harsher, more arrogant and cynical than the gentle aspect had been, but it was her. “Yes, yes, Willy, I know what I am.”

   William took a deep breath. He’d just witnessed another healing, another bonding of Dru’s shattered soul. It was harsher than he was used to seeing it… but then, Drusilla was not an innocent all through. That she had stripped off her innocence into a child helped her once. That didn’t mean she had to keep it forever. 

   He would miss the pure sweetness, but this was good, ultimately.

   “What was it you were wanting?” she asked. 

   “I’m sorry if my visit pushed you. I didn’t mean to make demands if you weren’t ready.”

   Drusilla shrugged. “Eh, you just gave me a reason. I’d been waiting for one.”

   “I’m glad,” he said.

   “Where’s your question, Willy?”

   “You said, if we tried hard, maybe you can stay here. I thought you’d said it to Buffy.”

   A sly smile had crept across Drusilla’s face.

   “You already know what I’m thinking, don’t you,” he asked.

   “That she needs you, and you need her. The thing is... does he  _ want _ you?”

   William took a deep breath. “I know he hates me.”

   “Not the question. Take a look.”

   Dru gestured with her eyes to her mirror, and William turned to look.

   Spike and Buffy were... they were....

   “That building doesn’t look very sound, does it?” Dru said.

_ Oh, god, _ William thought. The look in Spike’s eyes was pure awe. William wanted to be there more than ever. This...  _ this _ was what Buffy had still wanted, even here. This, pure physicality, was what he’d been utterly and completely unable to supply. And now that she was back on Earth, this was what she was seizing with both hands and utter abandon.

   “They were half trying to kill each other a second earlier,” Dru said. “It’s powerful, this thing they have.”

   William sank back. He couldn’t... he couldn’t try and get in between that. It would have been cruel....

   “Wait, then,” Dru said.

   She was probably listening to him as he thought, they were both old souls in this place. Speaking wasn’t required to share feeling.

   “Here, I’ll go showin’ it for you,” Dru said. She nodded, and the saintly doll on the one side of the mirror reached up and pulled down a veil. It was almost transparent, and he could see the mirror through it, but there was something else. A faint golden light was deep inside Buffy, and as Drusilla skipped to the end of their tryst, speeding quickly through it as it would on Joyce’s television when she pressed some of those rewind or fast-forward buttons, Buffy rolled off the vampire and seemed to pass out. He gently tucked his coat around her naked form, curled up and slept beside her. And....

   “There,” Dru said.

   The golden light within Buffy strengthened, softened, tried to reach out... and touched nothing. It returned to her own form, smaller, paler. 

   “Oh, god!” William cringed. She was trying to reach out, she was trying to bond with him, and there was no soul there to cleave to. And that wounded her....

   “It’ll keep happening,” Drusilla said. “She’ll hate him for it. She’s trying to love him. He has what her body wants. What her heart needs, even. He’s everything she longs for, save one little thing…. You’re not there for what her soul’s wanting, and she’ll end up hating him for it. And herself. And everyone.”

   “But that’s not his  _ fault _ .” Spike had faults enough, it seemed a harsh thing to hate him for something utterly beyond his demonic control.

   “No. She’ll hate him for it all the same.”

   William looked down. He wanted to help her, to stop this… it looked damaging, to herself and everyone around her. Including Spike. “I try to reach out for her. Try to come to her in her dreams.”

   “She can’t remember her dreams, and she don’t remember in them, my William. The soul’s not the mind. It’s not the body. It’s the essence. She doesn’t know what she’s reaching for, she only knows she’s not finding it. So she’ll make do with his flesh, and she’ll make do with hurting him, and herself, for not being you.”

   William shook his head. “But she held scorn for _ me _ for not being _ him. _ ”

   “She did, didn’t she?” Drusilla said. “You’d almost think there was something in that.”

   “I’m not enough for her. I never was. He is, but….”

   “But he can’t be.”

   So his impulse, his instinct… it made sense. It was… audacious. That’s what the watcher would have called it. It was against everything William himself had felt before he’d met Buffy. But now…. He turned to look at Drusilla. “You already know what I was thinking of doing.”

   Dru stared at him. “How do you plan on doing it?”

   “I entered him in his dreams before,” William said. “If I keep trying that...?”

   “You’ll be shunted out every time.”

   “What if Buffy were there? If she reached out, maybe I could hold to her? Stay...?”

   Dru looked at him sardonically. Of  _ course _ that wouldn’t work.

   “She’s not even going to try,” Dru said after he looked away. “Hurts her too much. She won’t let him hold her, she hates her own soul every time it tries to reach out for him and finds nothing. She’s using him hard, and she’ll throw him away when he’s broken.”

   “Is there  _ any _ way?” William demanded.

   “No.” 

   William felt like a marionette whose strings had been cut. That  _ no _ was the loss of everything, his own hell in heaven. And why? Why, when it seemed madness? All he’d have to do was wait. Buffy would die again one day, she would be here again, if he just stayed with her, watched her, he could be with her again.

   But he wouldn’t be Spike. He’d still be only William. Never  _ quite _ enough for her. Whereas Spike, below, was perfect for her… but was never quite enough, either. 

   “Not until he wants you,” Drusilla said. William looked up. “Wants you for real, for true, not just a passing thought. Then. Then, and only then, when you want him and he wants you. Then there’ll be a way.”

   “How?” William demanded. “What do we have to do?”

   “You have to watch, and wait, and be ready. You have to try for it. Strive for it. Be ready for it, and when it comes for you dive into the fire. Light the match, and be ready for the flames.”

   “And him?”

   “He’ll have to fight. He’ll have to pass the trials, jump through all the pretty hoops. He’ll need to burn.”

   William collapsed. “He’ll never go that far. Be willing, maybe, but fight? Actively fight for the pain? It’s madness.”

   “Well,” Drusilla said. “He knows madness.” She smiled, and her own twisted soul made her face flicker to child, to skull, and back again. “He already knows where he’d have to go. I told him.”

   William frowned at her. “ _ You _ told him?”

   “On Earth. Me, her, her eyes slip back and forth. We know each other. She told him a legend, long time ago.” Dru nodded at the mirror, and there was Drusilla again, the vampire.

   The vampire looked up and through the mirror, and gave a wicked looking smile. She was standing on some precipice. “I see you…. I see you there.” She chuckled, and it sounded almost innocent in its evil. “My pretty Spike was always pulling me back from these,” she said distinctly to the mirror. “Took such good care of me, he did. But he tastes like ashes, and I can’t help him, now. Yeah, Willy, I told ‘im. Cavern of Souls, across the water, where the beast will beat him, and he’ll fight to get you back. But only if the pattern’s right.” She blew a kiss across the mirror. “You were so very soft, Willy. You tasted like custard.” Her head tilted back, she held her arms out, took a step forward, and fell from the cliff.

   “No!” William called out, instinctively. The vampire on Earth fell from the edge of the cliff, and landed in a roiling sea....

   And a moment later surfaced in the moonlight, diving through the breakers and eventually swimming peacefully away.

   “Where was she?”

   “Cliffs of Moher,” his own Drusilla said. “She takes care of herself these days.”

   “That would have killed a human being,” William said.

   “She knows that.”

   The vampire Drusilla… his killer. What on Earth had she seen when she looked into him, before sinking her fangs in, ripping him from that body, leaving him here? Had she seen Spike? Had she seen Buffy? Had she seen  _ this? _

   He turned back to Dru’s soul. “So what do I do?” he asked. “How do I get back to Earth? How do I convince him...?”

   “Be his conscience,” Dru said. “Make him feel when something is wrong. Do as you’d do inside, and never let up.”

   “And that will make him fight for me?”

   “It made him fight for her,” Dru said. “Didn’t it?”

   It had. That was why Spike loved Buffy, because she treated him like a man, and held him accountable for his evil, and made him  _ feel. _

   There was just one final obstacle. “I still hate him.”

   “He’ll still hate you,” Dru said. “But like she’ll be showing you both, over and over again... you can hate someone, and still want them. You want him. He’ll want you.”

   “I won’t remember, will I,” William realized. “It will be like before. In his dream. He won’t be me, I’ll be  _ him _ …. I won’t remember this place, and I’ll be him.” Like Buffy. No soul could remember the afterlife, not clearly, and with Spike’s life of evil clouding it, of course it would all be gone. Could he live with that? Eaten up by the demon. All that death, all that pain, all those years of evil, all those victims he himself had personally met and sent on their way, all of it would be  _ his _ if he did this. Could he really do that? Could he endure it?

_ Yes _ , he realized. Yes. Yes, he could. 

   Drusilla came up to him, caught his face with her hand, and gazed into his eyes. “I’ll miss you, William. But if I can do it, you can.”

   “Do what... what...?”

   “Come together,” Drusilla said. Suddenly the egg melted around them, and... there was nothing. There were no mad wandering dolls. There was no tortured child in the hearth. No wanton shredding her clothes to reveal her form, no skull faced starving creature in the corner.

   “Dru... are you…?”

   “Might not last,” Drusilla said quietly. “I might fall apart again, now and again. But yeah. I think I’m good.”

   William gazed at her. She had come together, her soul no longer shattered. She truly didn’t need him here anymore, either. And his mother had moved on. The only person he loved was back on Earth. 

  “You  _ are _ good,” he told Drusilla. “You always were.”

   She smiled, shyly. “Do you mind?” she asked.

   William opened his arms, and she fell into them. She did not revert to child form, and she held him only briefly. She was the same as she had always been, really, when they were that close. Then she kissed him. And then she went away.

   William returned himself home, and tried to figure out the best way of starting this. How to begin the possibility, how to change reality? He knew merely calling down to Spike had had almost no effect. How could he influence the world? 

   He knew of only one way. 

   He sat himself down before a blank piece of paper in his own bedroom, and started writing a poem. There was no rhyme, no meter, no imagery. It was not clever, it was not even beautiful. But it was the only way William knew how to influence anything.

   “ _ The demon who had made his name as William the Bloody, Spike, the Slayer of Slayers, fought to earn his soul for the sake of the Slayer, Buffy Summers. He would come together, demon and soul combined, and become greater than either of them alone. _ ”

   As the doings on Earth arrived in his books, he hoped... he prayed... he sort of  _ knew _ that if he meant this, the truth of his writing would play out on Earth. It was like a spell… or the shape of one, anyway. He knew that wouldn’t be all of it. He knew he’d have to keep watching, and weighing in, he’d have to keep on the creature, torment him if he did anything evil. It wasn’t going to be easy. But… this was a start. 

   He leaned back in his chair. That had been so damned hard to write. Each letter had felt like ripping through the fabric of the universe. He’d poured his soul into those few words, he had almost faded his aspect into nothing. He wondered what he’d be like if he was still solid as Buffy used to make him. Sweating, shaking, short of breath? As it was, he was exhausted with keeping himself solid....

   He faded out into almost nothing.

   Oh.... Was this what his mother felt? This distant emptiness and peace? Because suddenly it occurred to him.... Just like her... he was ready to leave this place at last.

 


	16. Chapter 16

 

 

   There was nothing hidden; not anymore, if there ever would have been. There was no moment so private, no circumstance too secret, for William to not be privy to. Whether it was because it was his own damn body performing these acts with Buffy, or whether his soul still had a residual connection with Buffy’s, or because Buffy still wished at some level to share all with him, William had no way of knowing, but he witnessed all of what occurred between her and the vampire in a kind of daze of wonder and horror. It was powerful, beautiful, brutal, and horrifying all at the same time. Books proved inadequate, and he began watching through windows and gazing into mirrors, to catch every mote of expression between them.

   And the worst of it was, he could see her reaching out. It was clear in her eyes, in her expression, in the way she clutched at him, her soul was starving for that connection, and Spike was incapable of supplying it. And to compound the horror, William could see him striving for it. It seemed he could feel her reaching, in some core of him, and it touched him, affected him, changed him at some level. And not always for the better.

   The grief William had witnessed had not been replaced by happiness, but by confusion and despair and a kind of desperation. The vampire had what it had once felt it wanted — her body — and was almost assaulted now by the constant retreat of her starving soul. The affair was utterly inhuman, and completely inhumane, sometimes on both sides. The pain they inflicted upon each other, bodies aside, was brutal to see. He preferred it when she handcuffed and whipped him, or he chained her up and paddled her, to the times when she brushed off his caresses, or cut him publicly before her friends.

   Sometimes William shook his head at her. “Buffy, love. This isn’t you. Where’s your kindness? Where is that forgiveness? You’re abusing your own soul when you cut him like that, don’t you see it?”

   But she couldn’t. Every time she reached out, and found the wrong thing in Spike, she shrank deeper and deeper, pulling ultimately further and further away from him, and from herself.

   When she finally ended it, as was clearly inevitable from the first morning after she’d reached for him and failed to find what she wanted, she told him the truth, and William wished to god she’d lied. She should have been harsher, told him it was all his fault, put it on the mistake, whatever it had been. Instead she was gentle in her emotional cruelty. The kindness of it belied the whole sordid affair. _“I’m using you. And it’s killing me.”_

   “This was cruel, Buffy,” William said quietly. “You knew it was when you started.”

  _“I’m sorry, William.”_

   William was fairly certain she was speaking to the humanity in Spike, and not himself. Fairly certain. But in either case, he was not impressed. “Don’t expect _my_ forgiveness, love, you’ve been a right bitch.” He shook his head. “Apologies don’t make that better. You’ve torn him apart.”

   “How else did you think you were going to get inside?” said Drusilla’s soft voice. She came up behind him and whispered in his ear, “She makes a hole in you,” she switched to his other ear, “she makes a hole in him.” She stood and placed a hand on each shoulder. The image of Spike, devastated in the mirror, faded to show only William sitting, his aspect still appearing almost as Spike’s, and Drusilla standing behind him. “Then you each make a whole of the whole.”

   He turned to face her. “What do you mean she…?”

   Drusilla wasn’t there. She’d already left; or maybe she only let her aspect be seen in the mirror. Even no longer shattered, she wasn’t your average soul. William turned back to the mirror and opened his shirt.

   The gap was smooth. Not a scar, as the wound hadn’t happened to his body. Right over his heart. “You bitch,” he whispered, and to his own horror, it sounded almost fond.

   When the ultimate break between them finally came, William missed it. He didn’t know if he’d have tried to stop it. He didn’t know if it happened because he wasn’t watching. It had become hard to watch, hard to try and push the demon, harder to try and make Buffy push him in turn. He had hoped it would be her goodness and her mercy that persuaded the demon to change. But she had cut him so badly, he had gone reaching for his demonic side, turning to other demons for solace, and his humanity seemed to be nothing but pain to him now. When Spike finally turned to the vengeance demon Anya, that was when William stopped watching. It had felt like a repudiation of all his hopes, all of Spike’s own dreams. It had disgusted him, and he finally turned away.

   It was over. It had to be over. The chances of the demon choosing to change, to call for a soul, to be better or more than he was, seemed further away than ever.

   William couldn’t think what to do then. He couldn’t move on, like Anne. He couldn’t live any kind of semblance of _life_ , like he had when Buffy was there. He eventually let himself fade down to almost nothing, as if hoping for Spike’s death. As he had before he had met Buffy.

   Then he was called back.

   When the calling card came to his front hall table, the bell that accompanied it was so strident and cacophonous it made his whole being cringe in on itself. He was shocked back into form, and he fled to pick it up.

   The card read, “Ms. Buffy Anne Summers” and below that, in scrawled, desperate writing that tore at him, it read, “PLEASE, DON’T DO THIS!”

   William yanked up a mirror, saw what was happening, and if he had been capable of punching through dimensions, even if it meant living eternity as a ghost on Earth, he’d have done it. He’d have done anything to reach though and stop this, _this_ , if nothing else ever in Spike’s whole sordid history.

   As it happened, William wasn’t needed. Buffy knocked Spike across her bathroom, slowed him down long enough for him to think, and William was sure the look on his demonic face was the same as the one on his own. Shock, horror, utter disgust of himself. “Now, do you see!” William shouted at him. “ _Now?_ ”

   The demon fled, and William stayed with Buffy, as she sank to the floor, tears in her eyes.

   “I’m sorry, love,” William whispered to her. “I’m so, so sorry. It shouldn’t have happened.”

   How could it not, though, with the evil that had been borne between them?

   Was there any way to make it right?

   There was nothing he could do, though, but stay with her. So he stayed. He knelt as if right beside her, watching Buffy, not wanting to leave her alone in this. The anger and the pain she was in — personal, more than physical — was hard for him to bear, but he’d done it before. Held souls as they suffered through the aftermath. He didn’t know if he was holding her in any way through the turmoil, but he still couldn’t leave her alone in it.

   He could tell at some level she blamed herself for what happened. He wished he could reach down and sort it out, make things clear, try and explain what had happened, why she was like this. He blamed his own self. If he hadn’t been an influence upon her soul, upon the demon, would this terrible night have occurred? He didn’t want to leave Buffy, but he opened a book to check in on Spike.

   And found Spike blamed himself, as well.

   There it was, in black and white, as clear as crystal. _Spike left Sunnydale for Africa, with the intent to earn himself a soul._

   

***

 

   “This wasn’t how I wanted this to happen,” William told him in his dream.

   “It’s what happened,” Spike said. “It’s where we are.”

   “You didn’t mean it.”

   “That’s _why,_ ” Spike snarled.

   William frowned at the self-loathing he could feel in Spike’s words. He didn’t really blame Spike for what had happened… but Spike did. It seemed a strange twist on the concept of who was good, and who was evil. What Spike had done then, there, in that bathroom, it wasn’t the premeditated evil that he used to perform. Spike had made a mistake, a terrible mistake, that had cost him dearly, but…. “I’m not sure it was entirely your fault,” William said.

   “Then whose was it? Buffy’s?” Spike shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

   William knelt down beside him. “It might have been mine,” he admitted. “I made it not work between you. Not... intentionally, but... the fact that I existed. And that I didn’t exist, here. I messed it up for you.”

   “Like you give a toss what hurts me.”

   William looked down. “Yeah. I suppose I do still hate you.”

   “I still hate you.”

   They stared into each other, blue eyes in the dream space.

   “It’s what I want,” they both said.

   It was. The demon wanted a soul. The soul wanted the body. That, also, was just where they were.  

   “It’s gonna hurt,” William told him.

   “Too much of a coward, you wanker?” Spike asked.

   William chuckled. “I guess if you can take it, I can.”

   “We better get back to it, then,” Spike said, and wrestled himself back to consciousness. “Well, come on, then!” he announced to the demon whose trial had just knocked him out. “What’s next on the goddamn list?”

 

   ***

 

   William slid himself out of the dream state he had just visited Spike in, opening his perception of eyes. Soon... soon he’d have real ones, wouldn’t he? And demonic vision. And bloodlust, and true lust, and strength to fight. He was excited and terrified and strangely calm.

   “Don’t go, William,” said a gentle voice.

   William turned. “Mother?”

   Anne smiled at him. She looked beautiful, a little younger than she usually portrayed herself, smiling and soft and welcoming. He was so glad to see her. But, “It’s a mistake,” she said. “It’s a terrible mistake. Don’t let it happen. Fight it, please. Don’t leave me here alone.”

   William was confused. “Mother.... Mum, I thought you’d gone.”

   “How could I leave my William?” she asked. “Where would I go?”

   William was confused. “Where _did_ you go?” he asked.

   “What do you mean?” she asked with a gentle laugh.

   “I mean I couldn’t find you,” he said. “I mean I couldn’t sense you, you were nowhere. I was sure... I was sure you’d moved on without me. Like Father did.”

   “Well... the idea appeals.” She came closer to him. He wondered why she was speaking, rather than just letting him know what she’d say. “Come with me,” she said. “You should come with me. We can move on together. Leave this place, and go. We’ll be free, then.”

   William shook his head. “You know I can’t. I’m bound to the demon, so long as he’s on Earth....”

   “That’s not an impediment,” Anne said. “He’s nearly dead as it is.”

   William cringed a little. He knew how right she was. This demon, these trials, they were killing him. One wrong move, and the demon would be dust. But.... “He’s fighting for his soul, Mother. He’s fighting for me. For her. For us.”

   “She’d be better off without him in her life,” Anne said. “And he’d be better off dust, you know he would. It’s what he deserves. As for you, you don’t deserve that hell. Just let him die.”

   “It’s not up to me,” William said, and wondered if he was right. Weak as Spike was, he was easily distracted. A shout at the wrong moment, a push one way or another, and the demon would be gone. When things were stable, the dead found it nearly impossible to change things, but here, now? With Spike this tired, this injured, this close to the edge of death? It wouldn’t be difficult at all.

   “That’s right,” Anne said, reading his thoughts. “One little push. Just a push, a call, something so simple, and then you can come with me. We can leave this place together, we can move on. Grow beyond. Become what we’re meant to become.”

   It was tempting. There was always a wistful curiosity about what was beyond, since his existence here had not exactly been heavenly. And yet so long as Spike was a demon on Earth, William had known he was trapped. And he’d missed his mother. But they’d come so far....

   “Spike’s trying to change, Mum,” William said. “And Buffy.... Something’s coming. Something big, something dark. That… that thing, that attacked Drusilla. It’s coming for Buffy. If we’d kept her here, in heaven, she might have been safe from it, but now? No. It will come. What if she can’t face it alone? The truth is, she needs him. And he....” He glanced over at the mirror, where Spike was fighting. “I think he needs me.”

   “You don’t need _him!_ ”

   He still wanted him.

   “I can’t make him lose this fight, Mother. I can’t do that to him.”

   “Oh, William, listen to your mother! Spike’s evil! He deserves to be destroyed!”

   William turned his head back to her, slowly. “Does he, indeed?” he asked. “Does he truly?”

   “He’s slaughtered thousands, he’s tortured hundreds, he nearly raped your Buffy, don’t _you_ think he deserves to be destroyed?”

   “The question isn’t what is deserved,” he said. “The question is, what is.”

   “He killed me!” Anne insisted.

   “That’s right, he did,” William said. “Except you’re not my mum.” He advanced on the creature. “Get out of here. Go. You tried to influence me once before, I’m not taking it. You can’t stay here. Go!”

   “Do you think I’ll let it go?” the evil thing said out of his mother’s face. “Do you think _he’ll_ be able to let it go? He killed me. When you are him, _you’ll_ have killed me. Do you think you can live with that?”

   “I’ll do what has to be done.”

   “I won’t leave you be,” the thing said. “I’ll torture you. Torment you. I’ll make Earth, and this demonic life you seize, I’ll make it into a hell!”

   “I’m already quite certain it will be,” William said. “But I’ll be with Buffy.”

   “No you won’t!” it insisted. “I’ll see to that. And I’ll see to you! End it now. Make that demon die, shout it into death, make it lose! It will be dust, and you will be free, and you can be with your mother again. Isn’t that all you’ve ever wanted?”

   “No,” William said. “You don’t understand. No one ever understood her and me. I wanted her free. Whole. She moved on, it was what she wanted. _I’ll_ move on, when it’s what _I_ want. And I’ll go the way I want to. And even if I’m not with Buffy, even if I’m not a saint, even if I’m in a hell of a demonic form, even when I’m _him_ , I’ll be me, dammit!” He found himself with something in his hand. It was his mother’s cane... broken, somehow.

   And he knew what he had to do.

   He grabbed the evil creature by the shoulder, shoved it up against the wall, and stabbed it through the heart. It wasn’t solid, but neither was he, and he could send it away however it was easiest for him. And this was easy. Surprisingly easy. He leaned in close before the creature turned to a perception of dust before him.

   “And I know how to fight, too,” he whispered.

   The creature was gone with a whisper of dust, the image of Anne gone again, and once again William was certain, absolutely positive, that his mother was not here. She’d moved on without him, and that was all right. It was what she’d wanted.

   He turned back to Spike in the mirror. He had completed his final battle, just as William had fought his. “You have endured the required trials,” the soulfinder whispered in the darkness.

   “Bloody right I have,” Spike muttered. He dragged himself to his knees. “So you give me what I want. Make me what I was, so Buffy can get what she deserves.”

    _This is it,_ William realized. _We did it...._

   “Very well,” the creature murmured. “We will return... your soul!”

   Spike’s image in the mirror started to scream... and then William was screaming... and his body was in agony... and he had a body to feel this agony. And the demon had a soul to feel the pain with....

   And all memory William had of where he had been, his afterlife, Buffy, and Not Hell, all faded as he was drawn down to Earth, and into the demon.

 

***

 

   Drusilla sat back in her quiet eggshell of peace, a place she still felt more comfortable. The wandering aspects of madness had quieted now. The wuthering still bothered her at times, and often she felt better if she changed form, child to woman to doll to vampire and back again, depending on how the mood struck her. But she was no longer all of those things all at once, and it did make things simpler. More peaceful....

   She gazed quietly into her mirror, her only two shattered aspects still guarding it — the saint and the vampire, the window to Earth, past and present and fragments of the future. “Let me see,” she whispered to it.

   Drusilla, the vampire on Earth, smiled briefly in the mirror, feeling the soul’s presence, and letting it go again. It didn’t bother her. Her image faded, and then another one appeared. Spike, demon and soul together, and Buffy, her own soul weary but the scars no longer bleeding.

   They curled together in an empty house, and quietly the saintly doll lowered the veil. There they were, the golden light of two demon-tainted souls, reaching out beyond their bodies, entwined with each other again.

   Drusilla smiled. “That’s right, my William,” she whispered. “You find your own.”

   She knew there were trials still in store for them. She knew they would be fighting, frightened, weary, separated, confused. She knew they’d lose each other before they found each other again. She knew it wasn’t going to be easy. The hardest thing on Earth was to live in it. But there they were, each of them complete, and more than complete, with each other. She knew they could manage it.

   Together.

 


End file.
